


The Dragon Pistol

by Sokulski



Series: The Dragon Pistol Series [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, F/M, Flashbacks, Other, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Themes, Strong Language, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokulski/pseuds/Sokulski
Summary: (Imported and Edited from Fanfiction.net)In the shadow of Albert Wesker's death, Steve Burnside finally realizes his freedom. After twelve years of imprisonment, Steve reenters a world menaced by bioterrorism. With only a single ally of circumstance to lean on, survival depends on never letting the T-Alexia virus fall back into terrorist hands. Sequel to The Darkest Flames. (Undergoing rewrite)





	1. October 24th, 2009

_"Well yes sir, yes sir, yes it was me_  
_I know what I've done, 'cause I know what I've seen_  
_I went out back and I got my gun_  
_I said, 'You haven't met me, I am the only son'"_

~ _Dust Bowl Dance_ , Mumford & Sons

* * *

 

_Project ID: Phoenix_

_Project Commencement Date: June 8 th, 2004_

_Name: Steve Burnside_

_Date of Birth: December 18 th, 1981_

_Ethnicity: Caucasian_

_Hair Color: Red_

_Eye Color: Grey (left), Crimson (right) [Heterochromia was induced by Progenitor Virus infection]_

_Height: 5 ft 8 in_

_Weight: 125 Ibs_

_Blood Type: AB_

_Viral Infection: T-Alexia Virus (Original Strain) ; Progenitor Virus_

_Diagnoses: PFAPA (Periodic Fever, Aphthous Stomatitis Pharyngitis and Adenitis)_

_Product Transfer History:_

_-Rockfort Island Facility Item #: 0267_

_-H.C.F. Ukrane Facility Item #: 5,987 (Sold for $7,843,903,854.76)_

_-Sacred Snakes Syndicate Item #: 01 (Sold for $10,734,654,921.41)_

_-TriCell Subject Incorporated Item #: 18,942 (Sold for $598,321,623.00)_

_Project Status: CRYOSTASIS (JUNE 15 TH, 2004)_

_Reanimation Date: June 20 th – July 22nd, 2019 [Estimate]_

_Subject has a diverse history of investment from varying organizations such as The Umbrella Corporation, H.C.F. [Ukrane Facility], The Sacred Snakes Syndicate [privately sold and reacquired] and TriCell Incorporated. Note that viral stabilization was achieved by a fifth party that has been omitted from this report. The subject was diagnosed with PFAPA at the age of twelve (per repurposed medical history) and was effectively treated before being administered to Rockfort Island. Direct exposure to the “T-Alexia” Virus (previously titled “T-Veronica” Virus) resulted in the disorder being reanimated and intensified to debilitating levels._

_A pure strain of the Progenitor Virus was administered in an attempt to both further the development of T-Alexia’s regenerative properties (unique to the subject) and stabilize disorder. The attempt proved ineffective and resulted in one lethal and several non-lethal side effects. The subject has inherited the flammable blood trademark of the T-Alexia virus’ previous host. Dr. Albert Wesker theorizes the increased exposure to the Progenitor Virus is the cause of this side effect. As a result of this, the subject’s blood is flammable when exposed to oxygen molecules, particularly in humid conditions. The regenerative properties of the Progenitor Virus is seemingly stabilizing the flow of oxygen molecules within the subject’s circulatory system however it has been reported that burns beneath the surface of the skin appear without bloodletting._

_In terms of the non-lethal side effects from Progenitor Virus infection, most notably, the subject’s right eye experienced mutation that resulted in the iris changing from pale grey to deep crimson. No mutation occurred to the pupil’s shape like with other test subjects. Subject’s skin also experienced etiolation and several layers of skin becoming increasingly translucent to the point of the subject’s blood veins being vividly visible all over their body. [EDIT: Visibility of the subject’s blood veins has decreased notably over the previous year (2003)]._

_Auditory and visual hallucinations were reported by Dr. Albert Wesker immediately following the intensified reanimation of PFAPA. [EDIT: At this time it has not been determined if auditory and visual hallucinations are induced by PFAPA fever symptoms, PTSD or viral brain cell decimation ; inquiry will be pursued following cryostasis completion]._

_All symptoms experienced by the subject saw tremendous improvement following a combination of the intervention of the omitted fifth party and a successful organ transplant negotiated as part of the 2002 transaction between Dr. Albert Wesker and The Sacred Snakes._

_Currently, the subject is completing their fourth year (of fifteen) in cryostasis. Vital signs, including respiration and blood pressure, are within average values. Note that the subject has been diagnosed with Endocarditis due to consistent reports of detected heart murmurs. Subject's bodily temperature has consistently fluctuated due to fevers induced by PFAPA. Constant observation of the test subject is advised._

_END REPORT_

_Doctor Touma Yamamoto, April 2 nd, 2008._

 

           Steve blinked several times to clear the greenish-purple blotches the screen had burned into his retinas. Quickly he’d come to realize his value reflected more through an entire server’s worth of research and a lack of bullets in his body.

           “Be honest Burnside, _should_ I have sold you off?”

           A smirk threatened at the corners of his mouth as he exited the report and slipped a bandaged hand into the pocket of his jacket.

            “You would have been filthy rich, Lexi.” Steve looked back over his shoulder at the petite amalgamation of curves, long dark hair and a pair of green eyes that glowed as brightly as the monitor screens scattered around the room.

            “Son of a bitch.” Lexi scoffed theatrically. She shifted from leaning on one long leg to the other, the AK-47 she hugged to her chest, catching Steve’s eye as she stepped over the dead body that lay between them. Lexi stepped soundlessly on the white linoleum beneath their feet, leaving crimson footprints that led from the pool that haloed the labcoat clad corpse behind her. She slung the machine gun from her shoulder, her fist clenched around the makeshift leather strap she had fashioned for the stolen weapon. "Think there's anyone else here of any value?"

            Steve slipped his bandaged hand from his pocket, locating the tiny drive from its contents. The emerald glow of Lexi's eyes reflected in the white plastic casing as he plugged the little device into the socket.

            "Well there was Yamamoto, but he's currently oozing out back there." Steve glanced again over his shoulder at the man, inwardly relieved the corpse lay with his back towards him.

            "I can't get that image out of my mind," Lexi said, unfazed by Steve's earlier comment, "The look on his face when he thought I was actually selling you back to him."

            Steve frowned as he stared at the sapphire bar of a pop-up window on the screen, slowly filling. The bold white letters above reading, "Loading...(13%)." He wet his lips with his tongue and looked over at Lexi who stared back at him.

            "Why did it take you a week to come back for me?"

            Lexi's pupils shrank in her emerald irises as her round pink lips pulled into a mischevious smirk. A pair of dimples formed at the corners of her mouth, somehow pronouncing her high cheekbones on her ovular face. "Aww," she breathed, "They treat you that bad?"

            The humor was lost the second the words left Lexi's mouth, but Steve didn't comment on it. Silence fell between them, and Steve went back to staring to a loading bar that had jumped to twenty percent.

            "Sorry." Lexi gave his leg a gentle kick with the tip of her boot. Her black leather jacket squeaked as she rested her elbows on the edge of the console next to him, strands of her silken brown hair spilled over her shoulder. "Stupid question."

            "What took so long?" Steve didn't look up from the screen.

            "Our getaway for one thing." Lexi reached across Steve's torso for his bandaged hand, grabbing him by the wrist and gently dragging his arm until Steve was forced to step closer to her. "Also wanted to see if Raymond would show up. I figured he'd jump at the chance to collect you if he thought I was out of the picture."

            "He didn't take the bate." Steve watched as Lexi inspected his hand; the green glow of her eyes illuminated the scorched bandages like a neon light.

            She looked up at him a moment later, thin brow quirked with her silent question.

            "You were taking too long." He shrugged.

            Lexi frowned at him. "And what was the plan, Burnside? Burn the place down?"

            "That's usually the plan." Steve pulled his hand away, glancing at the window on the console screen, suddenly turning as green as Lexi's eyes.

            "I'm here now, aren't I?"

            "What did you do with the money he gave you?" Steve regretted the words as soon as they passed his lips, but he knew it was too late to take them back now. Another beat of silence fell between them again, and Steve chose the opportunity to remove the drive, satisfied the download was complete.

            "What'd you find?"

            Steve could tell Lexi was trying her best to conceal the anger in her voice. He turned to her and held out the drive for her to take.

            She looked at the dongle in his bandaged hand, then at him. She didn't move.

            "Everything on Project Phoenix. Raymond will want it."

            "Every bio-terrorist worth shit wants it." Lexi still didn't take the dongle from him.

            "It's why we came here." Steve held out his hand further, urging her to take it.

            A sigh flared through Lexi's nostrils as she at last reached out her hand and took it from him. "I'm sorry I left you here for a week."

            "What did you do with the money?"

            Lexi looked away.

            It was Steve's turn to expel his frustration with a sigh of his own. "How much did Yamamoto pay you for me?"

            "Probably a fourth of what you're actually worth." Lexi looked back at him with a dispassionate smirk.

            Steve waited, thumbing the edge of the console with his bandaged thumb. He watched Lexi watching his hand. Her brows knit together.

            "Do you need stitches?"

            "No."

            "Are you sure? The med bay's not--"

            "The money," Steve said, staring back at her expectantly.

            Lexi's lips pressed into a thin line, and she stood up a little straighter, squaring her shoulders as she did.

            "Slavicki has it." Lexi didn't look at him.

            "Is that where you were for a week?" Steve took a step forward, towering over her by a head, though his intention wasn't to intimidate. Lexi's shoulders sagged visibly in front of him, making him realize his intention didn't matter. He bit at his lower lip as he took a step back, folding his arms across his chest.

            "He doesn't know I have you." Lexi's eyes flickered back up to meet his.

            "Does he know you sold me--"

            "He thinks I sold you out to a private investor in Istanbul. He doesn't even know I'm in Kyoto right now."

            Steve nodded a little, scanning the room as he wracked his brain to think. The room around them was a rectangular expanse of desks pushed towards the bullet hole filled double doors on the opposite wall. Oversized curved monitors lay overturned on desks or scattered about the floor among computer chairs and three other motionless bodies. Three skeletal casings of glass tanks dripped while cords dangled from the ceiling. One tube from the center casing trickled a distinctly golden fluid. The fleshy, deformed contents lay in heaps on the floor between their containers and the rows of desks at the center of the room.

            "How are we--" Steve immediately stopped talking at the sound of a groan sounding from the far side of the room. Lexi stiffened next to him before fluidly slipping her AK-47 back into her hands.

            Steve remained perfectly still as Lexi aimed the barrel of her gun at the body that lay furthest from them. He could only see more than the man's legs moving their thoroughly stained slacks sweep the thick puddle of blood that had come from their own body.

            " _Ugh_ ," they moaned.

            The sound sent a numbing frenzy surging through the back of Steve's skull. He dug his fingernails into his arms as his shoulders rose towards his ears a little. Lexi marched forward and rounded a desk that stood between them and the apparent survivor. Her shoulders rose as she aimed at the man on the floor. For several moments Lexi stared down at the survivor on the floor. Steve assumed she was giving them a chance to die out on their own.

            Steve jumped when Lexi suddenly stepped forward and slammed the heel of her boot on him instead.

            Instead of a cry of pain, the man hissed and snarled.

            Lexi jerked back, her leg caught, and Steve thoughtlessly darted forward. A single gunshot echoed loudly in the room, making him skid to a stop. As soon as he did, the blood that had caked the bottom of his bare foot sent him sliding into the desk and slamming his knees against the thick metal frame.

            " _Fuck_ ," he breathed, following the ache of the impact.

            "You're so clumsy," Lexi chuckled, pulling her leg free and stepping back over to him.

            Steve cocked his head and turned, hopping up to sit on the desk and examine his now dripping feet.

            "Step in any glass?"

            Before he could answer another groan sounded from behind him.

            " _Fuck me_ ," Lexi groaned.

            Steve looked over his shoulder and watched Lexi weave through the scattered maze of desks as a second of her previous victims stood, head lopped to one side and their eyes milk white.

            In the blink of an eye, the man's head lopped back with a couple of bullets tearing through their forehead and left eye socket before the rest of his body sagged to the ground with a loud thunk.

            The way the man's arms flopped outwards from their torso replayed several times Steve's mind before Lexi broke him from his stupor by rapping her knuckles on his thigh.

            "Yamamoto obviously infected everybody before we got here." She said as she again dangled her AK-47 from her shoulder. "You step on any glass."

            Steve glanced at the zombie she just downed, his eyes traveling to Yamamoto's body lying on the other side of the desk he currently sat on.

            "Yeah," Steve said distractedly.

            " _Oof_ , let me see," Lexi breathed.

            Steve refocused on Lexi as soon as he felt her wrap her hand around his ankle. "Oh, sorry, I'm fine. I didn't..."

            "Oh ok," she shrugged, smiling at him, "but there's still a shit load of glass everywhere, so stay put."

            Steve watched as she walked around the desk again, offering Yamamoto's still body a swift kick as she did and began shoving desk contents off their surfaces.

            "Keep an eye on Yamamoto, would you? I doubt the bastard infected himself, but that doesn't mean he didn't accidentally expose himself."

            "What are you doing?" As soon as Steve asked, Lexi groaned as she began to push another desk towards him.

            "Making...you..a...bridge," she said between grunts as she worked. She angled each, so the lengths of each surface lined up to reach the end of the room. Once Lexi completed her task, she let out a breath and wiped her hands on her jeans. "Walk on over here. I think I saw your stuff in one of the locker rooms near the foyer."

Steve hesitated before he lifted his legs onto the surface of the desk and caught a glimpse of the stained white scrubs he wore. The thoroughly worn, almost translucent stiff cotton fabric did little to conceal the bony curves of his body. His shirt and pant legs were plastered to his skin by the spray of bloodstains that Lexi had managed to cover him with earlier. As Steve straightened on the desk, he gave Yamamoto's body another cautionary look.

            "He's not getting up, Burnside. Zombies don't play possum with all the noise I made. Case in point with these two." Lexi pointed her finger at one collapsed zombie and the barrel of her gun at the other.

            "You're right," Steve said, stealing another glance at Yamamoto's body and carefully stepped across his makeshift bridge of desks.

            "Didn't get your gun, sorry," Lexi said as he made it halfway, "I'm sure it's with your stuff."

            "And if it isn't?" Steve stopped at the last desk, kneeling to grip the edge with his hand before he hopped off.

            Lexi stepped back, AK-47 in hand. She nodded her head left towards the double doors across from Steve. "Weapon's lockers and locker rooms are all connected. This place is fancy."

            Steve nodded again, looking to the double doors and freezing in place when a shadow passed across the circular windows. Outside either window, he could see the inside corners of the "T" shaped hallway. The pure white walls untouched by Lexi's earlier assault. The fluorescent lights beyond were almost blinding and cast faint shadows along the corner of where the wall met the ceiling. The green light of Lexi's eyes flickered between them the metal rims of the door's windows, as well as the glass as she glanced between them.

            "Did you--"

            "Yup, I saw it, too," Lexi said, keeping her voice low as she stepped forward. She knelt a little by the left door and pushed it open a little to slip her fingers through the crack she formed. She peered into the hallway, lifting her AK a little as she did. "Stay behind me."

            Steve's eyes met Lexi's, and he nodded again, padding after her as soon as Lexi pushed the door open. He held it for her to step through first and glanced down at the white linoleum at his feet, seeing the bloody footprints he left behind.

            "Let's go," Lexi whispered, stepping to the center of the hallway.

            Steve carefully closed the door behind him and looked both ways down the pure white hallway. Little plastic room numbers hung on the wall by each off-white door. The room number next to the double doors behind them read: "328 Observation Room." Steel handrails hung low on every wall and the letters "F-3"  in light blue paint decorated each end of the three-way hallways. The hallway across from them was cut off by a reinforced steel iron gate that remained bolted.

            To their left loomed a staircase that connected to an upper platform with the stamped letters on the wall and another set of stairs. Steve looked down the opposite end of the hallway to their right, seeing a door cracked but barricaded by a toppled over filing cabinet filled with bullet holes. Blood pooled at the foot of the filing cabinet, a black, splintered helmet lay in the center of the puddle but no body was present — the only evidence of Lexi's presence in the entire hallway.

            "I guess that guy was infected too," Lexi whispered next to him.

            Steve looked at her, seeing she was also looking at the filing cabinet. He realized then that the shadow they saw earlier had been whoever Lexi had shot down to get into the room.

            "Where is it?" Just as Steve asked a howling came from the staircase and down came tumbling a zombie clad in black combat gear.

            Lexi immediately trained her AK on the being as it slowly pulled itself back to standing on its wobbling legs.

            Steve's eyes widened at the site of its slack hanging lower jaw and a distinct bullet hole leaking fresh blood through its left cheek.

            "You shot it in the mouth?" Steve took a step back as Lexi marched forward, firing two bullets at its head. One round popped into the wall behind it while the other burst a chunk of its forehead and knocked the zombie off its feet.

            "He was wearing a helmet," Lexi defended, glaring back at him.

            "So, everyone's infected." Steve followed after arms still crossed as he followed Lexi towards the stairs. He kept an eye on the zombie now lying dead on the platform, scanning his combat gear for a knife or a pistol.

            "Looks that way. I disabled the hanger doors before I came after you, but I doubt that will keep the lickers boxed in long."

            Steve's stomach dropped at the mention of the B.O.W.'s. "There are lickers here?"

            Lexi glanced back at him and frowned, surprised. "Burnside there's a refinery."

            Steve stopped at the foot of the stairs, staring after her.

            Lexi made it to the platform before she realized he had stopped following. She looked back at him before she knelt next to the armor-clad zombie, pushing the body by the shoulder to flip it onto its back. "He's got a knife. Come get it."

            Steve wordlessly obeyed, climbing the flight of stairs and groped at the black leather knife strap as he felt for the buckles.

            "Have a little faith, Burnside. I'll get you out of here." Lexi leaned on her right leg, offering him a confident smirk.

            Steve glanced up the next flight of stairs past her as he popped open the first buckle of the zombie's holster. Another steel gate with its door hanging open awaited them at the top of the stairs. "Do you think any of the other test subjects survived?"

            Lexi's smirk vanished, and she tilted her head at him. "Burnside," she paused, eyes drifting as she thought. "Once Yamamoto got a hold of you, he terminated the rest of his product."

            Steve didn't look at her as he flipped the body over to slip its arms through the shoulder straps of the knife holster. "Ok."

            Silence fell between them again for several moments before they both looked up at the sound of a door opening.

                        "Hurry up. Get against the wall." Lexi turned with her back to him, waiting for him to do as she said.

            Steve slipped his arms through the now freed knife holster and slipped and buckled both straps as he stepped down the stairs again and leaned back against the wall to his right.

            Lexi leaned against the edge of the same wall, weapon ready, and her finger on the trigger. She tilted her head against the wall and squared her shoulders as they waited, pivoting her left foot in preparation.

            Steve carefully unbuttoned the holster that held the Bowie knife and drew it. His ears perked when he caught the distinct sound of echo of footsteps approaching. Several seconds later, his confidence grew in his perception of clear, precise steps that didn't match the uneven lumbering of a zombie.

            Lexi fidgeted in place, standing upright from the wall and bent her knees a little, ready to lunge.

            The footsteps echoed close, approaching the gate at the top of the stairs before pivoting right. The sound of a pair of double doors bursting open sounded a moment later.

            Steve let out a breath as soon as he received the affirmation of Lexi's shoulders sagging a fraction. A split second later a pistol fired, causing both of them to stiffen.

            "They're heading for your cell," Lexi whispered, popping around the corner with her AK-47 lifted.

            Steve frowned at her, not yet moving from where he stood.

            Lexi looked back at him; her face sank into a sympathetic frown. "Don't be scared. I won't let him take you."

            Steve gritted his teeth to keep them from rattling as he reluctantly climbed the stairs after Lexi. The Bowie knife shook with his fist. He hesitated again at the top of the stairs, not yet walking through the open gate as Lexi glided through. She glanced over her shoulder at him but said nothing as she entered further into the lobby.

            The lobby was an "L" shaped room with a long, round grey desk that occupied the center. Potted plants were toppled over in corners of the hall amongst scattered papers, bullet casings and bodies scattered about the floor. Another corpse clad in combat armor sat motionless against the front of the desk, spare of a helmet and temple dotted with three bullet holes.

            Steve stepped up to the body as Lexi trained her gun on the only double doors on the floor to their left. The gunfire beyond them had gone silent, but the fact brought Steve no relief. He knelt by the seated corpse and found an occupied pistol holster on his belt. He retrieved the pistol first, pulling the Glock 17 from its holster before he released a full clip.

            "Pop the chamber," Lexi said in a low voice.

            Steve glanced up at her after replacing the clip and obeyed, jumping when a bullet popped from the gun.

            "Good, give me that." She reached out a hand to him, and Steve handed the bullet to her.

            She slipped the bullet into a concealed pocket inside of her jacket in front of her right breast and nodded her head towards the right end of the room. "Let's go through the mess hall. We can take the elevator down to the garage. If he's heading for your cell, he would have taken the elevator."

            "Yeah, let's go." Impatient to escape the facility, Steve didn't bother with stealing the gun holster as well and followed Lexi across the room.

            "Me first," Lexi said as she grabbed the knob of the single white door and let herself in.

            Steve held it open but waited in the doorframe, staring down the simple hallway with four adjoining rooms and wide-open door at the opposite end with a red plastic marker with bold white letters that read: "EVACUATION ACCESS F-4."

            Lexi peeked in each open doorway, closing each door before moving onto the next. Once done, she walked the length of the hallway and looked into the stairwell.

            "Ok, we're good," Lexi turned back to him, but a second later, her gaze moved past him, and her eyes widened.

            Steve's eyes widened as well, realizing someone was behind him.

            "DROP!"

            Steve immediately dropped to his knees, throwing his arms over his head as bullets sailed past him.

            "Shit!" Someone called from the lobby.

            Steve half-crawled, half stepped out of Lexi's way as soon as she stopped firing and slammed the door to the lobby behind him.

            "Come on," Lexi commanded.

            Steve slipped off the safety of the Glock in his hand but kept his finger off the trigger as he sprung to his feet and darted past Lexi towards the stairwell.

            Not a word was said as Steve reached the flight of stairs and began descending, hearing Lexi open fire once more before she slammed the door behind him and followed. Steve held fast to the railing as he continued down the stairs, fearful his vicious trembling would make him misstep and tumble down the rest.

            "Fuck," he breathed, hearing the door bang open overhead.

            "Nowhere to go," an all too familiar male voice called after them.

            "TRY IT, PRICK," Lexi roared back, opening fire again.

            Steve flinched as he reached the next platform of the floor below. The sounds of Lexi's bullets clattering behind him echoed after the sharp bursts of her AK-47 in the stairwell. His ears rang as he continued descending, relieved when he spotted the large red letters: "F-1" stamped on the wall next to the door on the final platform.

            More desperate to escape the room than concern himself with what may be looming on the other side, Steve burst hurriedly through the door and quickly stepped aside for Lexi to exit after him.

            Just as she appeared in the doorway, Steve lunged forward, yanking over the dark green filing cabinet he immediately spotted standing on the right side of the door.

            Lexi snatched at his arm and yanked him along through the sectioned off office area.

            Linoleum was replaced by stiff carpet that scraped at the bottoms of Steve's bare feet as Lexi dragged him through the waist-height maze of wooden desks and rows of cubicles.

            They made it halfway through the office space before Steve caught the sound of banging coming from the other side of the door he barricaded. His heart thumped in his chest as Lexi pulled him behind a row of cubicles to their left and pulled him down to his knees.

            Lexi knelt in front of him and flipped the safety on her AK-47 before slinging it across her back. She looked at him, her face severe as she held out her hand to him. "You forgot the knife."

            Steve's eyes widened, and he looked down at the Glock held in both of his hands. Panic hit him hard, and he doubled over, clapping a hand to his mouth when he heard the filing cabinet topple over.

            Lexi snatched the Glock from him and crouched, clapping a firm hand on his thigh. They remained utterly silent as the same footsteps approached, slowly and cautiously.

            Steve found Lexi staring back at him, brows raised.

            "Stay," she barely whispered to him.

            Steve stared, dumbfounded as Lexi began to pivot with the one weapon he had to defend himself. He grabbed at her arm, and she stared back.

            "Gonna' flank him." Without another word, she moved soundlessly around the corner of the cubicle and disappeared.

            Steve leaned back against the wall behind him, trying to keep himself from shaking as the footsteps approached. His heart thumped hard in his chest, causing him to flinch when his heart began to miss beats from an oncoming murmur. His panic doubled when his throat clenched with an urge to breathe the breaths he consistently began to miss.

            The footsteps of his pursuer continually approached as his entire body clenched, fighting his efforts to keep from gasping. His face prickled and his throat tightened until at last a gasp passed between the gaps in his fingers. Steve barely registered the sound of his pursuer's footsteps coming to a stop over the echoing of his gasp in his head. A violent tremble wracked Steve's body as he heard the steps charge into a run, and he scrambled to move.

"Nah-ah," the man chuckled, stepping into view with his gun trained on him.

            Before Steve could lift his eyes to look up at the man now standing over him, a series of coughs erupted from his chest, knocking him to hands and knees.

            "Come out here," the man called to the room, "You're not going to torture him any further, are you?"

            Steve held a hand to his chest, the pain of his aching lungs unbearable as his forehead touched the carpet. His vision speckled fiercely with the lack of oxygen in his brain, but he could still make out the man's shined brown Oxfords stepping closer to him. Just as the toe of their shoe landed inches from his face, Lexi opened fire from somewhere in the room, forcing the man to dive back from him.

            Breathless, Steve crawled backward, at last having a look at Raymond Vester's face. Raymond quickly brushed his cheek on his shoulder, the white sleeve of his silk shirt staining deep crimson from the blood that seeped from the fresh cut on his face. Raymond clenched his teeth, the action clenching his square jaw as he was in obvious pain from the bullet grazing his cheek. The black bulletproof vest he wore matched the ones worn by the security detail though beneath the protective vest he was dressed finely in immaculate black slacks, and a deep green striped tie loosely tethered around his neck.

            Steve got around the corner of the cubicle before Raymond could train his gun on him a second time.

            "What'd you say in Shanghai? 'Damaged goods don't sell?' Don't pretend you're going to fucking shoot him." Steve followed Lexi's voice as he half-crawled along the row of cubicles. He jumped when Lexi opened fire again, pivoting quickly and expecting to see Raymond behind him. He realized when he didn't see him, Lexi's shot had prevented him from pursuing.

             "How much have you made off of him at this point?" Raymond called back; his voice dripped with disgust.

             "More than you asshole, three times over," Lexi barked back.

            Steve reached the end of the cubicles and to his relief, spotted Lexi crouched against the front wall.

            Her head jerked to him, and she immediately held out a hand.

            Steve took it and accepted her help in settling down next to her. He let out a breath and watched as Lexi immediately crouched again, holding the Glock behind her for him to take while her other hand tugged at her AK-47.

            "Don't think I've ever seen that before," Raymond called back from his end of the office room, "Two test subjects escape a couple of terrorist groups, but they don't go to the BSAA. What's a word for that?"

            "He's between us and the foyer," Lexi whispered quickly, "We're going to make a break for it--"

            Lexi was cut off by a shrill roar sounding from the high ceiling overhead. A moment later, an air vent slammed down from the ceiling, and a skinless amalgamation of muscle and bone crept out from the air vent, long tongue swishing and body glistening against the fluorescent lights.

            Silence fell upon them all as the Licker hissed and began scrambling across the ceiling in Raymond's direction, his voice having attracted the bioweapon in the first place.

            Lexi looked back at Steve and placed a hand on his shoulder, wordlessly moving past him towards the cubicle desk behind him.

            Steve watched as she half-crawled towards the desk and carefully removed a fist full of pens and pencils from a black, wireframe tumbler, silently placing the contents on the rug and slowly opening her fist to release the writing utensils.

            Another roar sounded from the air vent over their heads, leading to a second Licker appearing and running along with the ceiling as it also began to search.

            Lexi returned to his side and motioned for him to follow, the metal-frame tumbler in her fist.

            Steve glanced at the item, having a pretty good idea of what she intended and crouched next to her, ready to run for the single door on the opposite end of the room.

            Lexi wordlessly mouth to him, "Three...two..." on one she chucked the tumbler towards the rightmost corner of the room near a series of vending machines and where carpet became marble flooring.

            Steve's eyes widened when he saw Raymond's hand pop out from behind the cubicles in vain as the metal container sailed past and struck the marble floor with a series of echoing clangs.

            The duo of Lickers shrieked in response and vaulted from the ceiling, razor sharp rows of teeth spread wide and three massive claws outstretched as they each pounced blindly in the direction.

            As Steve sprang to his feet and followed Lexi, he saw Raymond manage to dive out of the way of the two Lickers that matched his size.

            The Lickers collided with one another, becoming entangled in their scrambling to get back to their feet as Lexi and Steve broke past.

            One shrieked in response to the sound of Lexi's boot hitting the surface of the marble floor while the other howled in response to Raymond's bullet sinking into its shoulder.

            Reaching the door first, Steve burst through it and was immediately shoved aside by Lexi who spun around and slammed the door back in time to block the airborne Licker behind them.

            Lexi braced the door and immediately fell back when three enormous claws stabbed through the wooden door, splintering the surface and almost slicing between Lexi's eyes.

            Steve was at her side in an instant and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet.

            Lexi didn't bother opening fire on the door and charged for the end of the hall where a long, curvaceous set of marble stairs loomed at the center of the hallway, leading to the rest of the opulent foyer below.

            They could still hear Raymond's gunfire and the Lickers shrieking as they reached the left staircase and took the steps two at a time, the large wooden entrance doors left wide open.

            Steve flinched from the sunlight that poured in from the outside; an elegant courtyard loomed beyond the doors with a high walled gate that separated the facility's entrance from the rest of the world.

            "Stairs," Lexi called back as she marched across the foyer to a single metal door right of the entrance. "Locker room's down there, too."

            Steve followed, hand flexing around the Glock 17 in his hand as he glanced at the bodies of several security members Lexi had killed in the courtyard.

*DF* 

            By the time they reached the garage, the bottoms of Steve's feet throbbed. He held the wall as he lumbered after Lexi, who entered a doorway to their right through which he could see a series of lockers. She disappeared inside, and Steve kept an eye on the staircase behind him.

            "Found it," Lexi announced before Steve could reach the door.

            She appeared again with a black duffle bag, unzipping it to reveal the contents.

            Steve barely registered his belongings inside, or the Beretta 92F Inox Lexi produced from the depths of the circular bag from his desperation to escape.

            "Y-Yeah," he stammered, catching sight of the crimson dragon stamped on the Beretta's grip before it disappeared back into the bag.

            "Good, so take this, and I'll get the car." Lexi stepped up to him and slipped the strap on his shoulder, glancing at his feet before she unzipped a pocket in her jacket and produced a pair of keys.

            Steve turned his head towards the stairs again, hearing a loud crash followed by the shriek of a Licker. He straightened as he turned his head to rush Lexi and watched as the raven black Suzuki Vitara she approached roared to life. He immediately looked to the driver's seat, puzzled when he didn't see anyone behind the wheel and that Lexi didn't seem surprised.

            Without a word, Lexi threw open the door, climbed into the driver's seat, and drove up to him. Steve stepped up to the left rear passenger door and threw the duffle bag in before he quickly climbed into the front passenger seat and slammed the door as soon as he was inside.

            The tires squealed as Lexi lurched the car into action and drove, quickly weaving around a pillar and driving for an entrance who's beam was left lifted.

            As she did, Steve looked back towards the stairs and saw a Licker roll down the stairs, followed by a breathless Raymond who glared after them.


	2. July 17th, 1998

July 17th, 1998

" _Note in Figures 2-2 and 2-4 that the airflow is deflected downward as it passes the wing. Newton's law, 'For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,' also applies here—"_

"—Please, my husband's been missing a week now, Officer. Maxwell would  _never_  do this to his family."

Steve forced his eyes to remain glued to the words neatly printed on the glossy page of his textbook, trying to drown out the sound of his mother's hysterical begging.

_"—The wing deflects the air-flow downward with a reaction of the airplane being sustained in flight. This can be easily seen by examining how a-"_

"Missus Burnside, I assure you we are doing everything in our power to find your husband. I promise you, ma'am, that you will be the first to know if we find anything."

" _—Some engineers prefer Newton's law over Bernoulli's theorem. But the air does increase its velocity over the top of the wing-"_

"If you don't know anything, then why are you even here right now? My son is upstairs worried as sick as I am. He's probably seen your car outside and thinks-"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry for any additional stress this visit may be causing, but I have a couple of questions for you. I've come with a possible lead regarding your husband's place of work. Since your son is home, I would appreciate if he could also join us to answer a few questions."

Steve was up from his desk in an instant, dropping his textbook on the surface of his desk and rushed across the profoundly trampled carpet to close his bedroom door. No more questions. He couldn't answer more questions about his dad's disappearance.

"What? No, absolutely not. My poor boy's already distraught over his father's disappearance. I can't keep involving him-"

Steve hesitated; his hand folded around the edge of the door in preparation. He pressed his lips together into a thin line, listening to the voices coming from downstairs. The shadows of his mother and the police officer draped against the staircase's inner wall. The afternoon sun leaked through the window to his right and left a glare against the plastic covering of a framed poster that depicted an unrealistic scenic vista of Lake Taneycomo."Ozark Mountain," the poster read, "Lake Taneycomo & Vacation Land. Visit 'Queen City' Springfield, Missouri!"

"Missus Burnside, I understand this is a difficult time for you both-"

"We already told you everything we know! Why aren't you out there looking-" his mother paused, catching herself when her voice raised, "—why aren't you out there looking for my husband?"

"We are looking tirelessly, ma'am. It would be beneficial to our investigation if we could review you and your son's statements one more time. Anything you or your son may have left out could be crucial in helping us expand our search."

"What could we have left out? I told you about the woman who called-"

"Yes ma'am, we're looking into it. Could you call your son down and we can have a little chat?"

There was a pause, and Steve winced, hearing his mother give into a fit of sobs. His hands shook as he quietly closed his bedroom door and walked to the top of the stairs. As soon as he stepped down to the first step, he froze, staring at a man in a dark brown suit rather than a police officer's uniform.

The tall man in the brown suit looked up at him, thick brows raising on his wrinkled forehead. His dark brown, greying hair was jelled back, and a stubble threatened his pale face. He took a step back from his mother and rubbed at the stubble on his square jaw.

"Come on down, son," he said, waving a hand down invitingly, "I just have a couple more questions for you. It won't take long."

Steve didn't move, clenching a fist on the railing of the staircase instead. "Have a badge?"

The man quirked a brow at him, looking genuinely surprised by the question.

"Steve," his mother said, probably more surprised than the stranger.

Steve held his ground. It wouldn't be the first time a reporter managed to talk their way into their house, praying on his hysterical mother's state.

"No, it's alright," the man said, slipping a hand into the inner breast pocket of his blazer. He smiled a tight smile and produced a diamond-shaped golden badge. "Astute of him. I'm glad he's looking out for his mom. I'm Detective Bradley Richardson."

Steve glanced into his mother's eyes as he descended the stairs, catching the "We'll talk about that later," look in her cerulean-colored eyes. As he reached the foot of the stairs, he took more notice of the badge the man held out to him, reading in bold white letters across a red ribbon at the top of the design that read: "DETECTIVE" followed by: "RACCOON POLICE" within the inner circle of the badge. Steve frowned at the badge. What was a detective from Raccoon City doing here? Every police officer that had come here had been local and the detective they had been speaking to before certainly hadn't been this man.

"Where's Detective Ross?" Steve ignored his mother's reprimand in the form of her hand, grabbing his arm.

Detective Bradley nodded as he returned his badge to the inside of his blazer. "He contacted me regarding an inquiry about your father's work. In good faith, I was brought on by the Umbrella Corporation to assist in this matter." He turned his dark green gaze moved to his mother's, much to Steve's relief.

Steve's heart hammered in his chest as his eyes drifted across the entryway to the kitchen where the lime green phone hung next to the fridge. How many times had his dad come home in the middle of the afternoon to dial that phone? How many times had his dad done it, completely unaware that he'd skipped school and overheard everything he said?

"We're very grateful, detective," his mother said, sniffing again.

Steve looked down at the ground as he felt his mother give his arm a gentle push and complied. His mind racing as they went. His mother settled on the faded brown leather couch that chipped in patches from age. He spotted his mother fidgeting with her light blue skirt, embarrassed by the piles of newspapers and flyers that littered the surface of the glass coffee table. Their eyes met, and Steve could see his mother's own sense of dread in her eyes. He wondered what she was dreading since she hadn't known what her husband was doing.

"Now, Missus Burnside I do have a few questions that may prove a little uncomfortable, but I need you both to be as honest with me as you can." As he said this, Detective Bradley slipped a small notepad from his back pocket and a pen from its black plastic rings.

"What kind of questions?" His mother asked frowning.

"About your husband's personal time. We have to cover all basis in this investigation, and these questions are not coming from any evidence I've procured, they're just inquiries that you two will know the answers to."

"We understand detective, don't we sweetie?" His mother asked in barely a whisper.

Steve fought the urge to wring his hands and nodded, finding he couldn't summon the words to respond.

"Good," Detective Bradley clicked his pen and put it to the thinly lined paper, "A simple 'yes' or 'no' or 'I don't know' will suffice for any of these questions."

"We get it," Steve said, staring at the table.

"Let's start with familiar territory. This woman who called on the phone, can you talk me through the conversation?"

Steve looked at his mother, who smiled encouragingly back at him. His stomach dropped the second he realized he had to speak first. "Uh…"

"Are you sure she didn't tell you her name?" Detective Bradley said. He smiled tightly again, causing his eyes to crinkle in their outer corners.

Steve bit down on his bottom lip as he thought. "No. She sounded American to me."

"What did she say to you, Steve?"

Steve licked his lips, looking at his mother again. He received the same encouraging smile before he looked back at the detective. "She asked if dad was home."

"Ok, and he wasn't, I assume?"

"No." Steve shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter.

"What then?"

"She asked who she was speaking to, and I told her. Then she asked if I knew his work number, but I don't so…"

Detective Bradley scribbled at his notebook and nodded, waiting for him to continue.

Steve glanced over at the kitchen again, looking at the phone. "She told me she was calling from Umbrella and needed to speak with him. I took a message."

"Do you still have the message?" The detective looked at him, quirking a brow.

Steve shook his head. "Detective Ross took it."

"I'll see what Detective Ross found later, then." He smiled his tight smile again. "Did this nameless woman tell you why she needed to speak with him so urgently?"

Steve shook his head. "No, she just said she needed to speak with him. She told me to tell him to call the number she gave as soon as I saw him."

Detective Bradley tilted his head at him. "That's a little odd that a name wasn't left for your father to ask for."

"Well, the woman left the message for Maxwell to call warehouse management. Sometimes Maxwell volunteered to drive rush shipments to earn a little more." His mother sat up as she spoke, finally ceasing to fidget with her skirt.

Bradley scribbled at his notepad again. "And as I understand it, Steve, you weren't able to give your father the message."

Steve's throat tightened, and he simply nodded again.

"Good job, sweetie," his mother whispered.

"Understood," Bradley said, looking to his mother again. "Now, I do have to ask an unpleasant question regarding the brief presence of this mysterious woman. Missus Burnside, do you know if even the possibility exists that your husband could have been unfaithful?"

The shock his mother felt sounded in the form of an indignant scoff that made Steve flinch. "Excuse me?"

Detective Bradley put up a hand, his pen pinched between his index and middle finger. "We're covering all basis, Missus Burnside. If there's even a chance that if your husband's disappearance isn't actually a missing person's case-"

"My Maxwell would never do such a thing to me—to us, his family." His mother hissed with uncharacteristic fury.

Steve watched her, a new sense of fear developing within the pit of his stomach. The sensation worsened when his eyes drifted to Detective Bradley again and saw the man was watching him.

"Of course," Bradley said, "I'm sorry if I upset you. We want to cover every inch of possibility, hopeful that we aren't looking to worse scenarios-"

"Scenarios like what? Are you saying," his mother stopped short before she looked back at Steve.

Steve looked away but knew it was too late. One look into his eyes had told her everything he didn't want her to know.

"Nothing currently, what I am pursuing is more possibilities that may tell us where your husband may have gone," it was Bradley's turn to sit up in the lounge chair he sat on, flipping his pin in his hand. "I only have several more questions, but I would need to speak with your son alone, Missus Burnside."

His mother stiffened. "Absolutely not. He's a minor, Detective Ross told me himself my son doesn't-"

"Missus Burnside, Steve won't be under oath. This is a challenging time for you, I understand, but any leads he could provide might lead us to your husband."

His mother stuck up her nose a little, the way she did when she felt patronized or couldn't think of a witty response. "Detective, there is nothing my son can't say in front of me. He's seventeen years old, he shouldn't have to speak to a detective alone if he doesn't want to."

Steve clenched his hands in his fists, looking away from the tears that welled in his mother's eyes. Maybe it was better to give the detective what he wanted to make him leave. A sense of dread welled in the pit of Steve's stomach at the thought of what the detective possibly wanted, and the fact that he was suspected of knowing something.

"—up to Steve if he wants to talk privately," Detective Bradley finished saying before turning his eyes on Steve.

"It's fine." Steve shrugged a little, pretending not to notice his mother's tears.

She looked surprised, or maybe betrayed but nodded and stood anyway. "I'll be in the kitchen, sweetie." She placed a gentle hand on Steve's shoulder before he went.

Steve watched her go.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Steve," Detective Bradley said, "This won't take long, but I wanted to just to ask you a couple of questions."

"And after?" Steve asked, glaring at him. His reaction seemingly surprised Bradley, but the detective smirked back at him anyway, though the look in his eyes gave a hint of something Steve couldn't place.

"Your dad was a truck driver for Umbrella, right?"

Steve frowned at him. "Aren't you supposed to know that already?"

"You're right, let's skip the formalities." Bradley looked down and smiled, but Steve could tell the man was getting annoyed.

"When your dad was home, did you ever feel like he was acting strange?"

Steve was careful to swallow, not wanting to flinch from his throat contracting against the anxiety-induced dryness of his mouth. "Do you have an example? Dad was always weird." It wasn't untrue.

"Did he ever seem nervous? Or did he receive any phone calls late at night?" Bradley leaned back in his seat like he owned the place.

Steve shook his head, looking down at the coffee table between them instead. "No."

"To being nervous? Or receiving late-night phone calls?" Bradley smiled with his teeth.

Steve wet his lips with his tongue again. "Both. I didn't notice anything."

As soon as the words left Steve's mouth, he felt his ears burn. Had that been too obvious?

Bradley nodded thoughtfully and scribbled something else at his notepad. "Steve, it was brought to my attention that before your dad's disappearance, the Umbrella Corporation was experiencing some security issues regarding employees selling company-sensitive information." Bradley flipped the page of his notebook as he spoke. "I want to eliminate the possibility that your father is involved, but I may need your help to do that."

Bradley's eyes moved squarely on Steve as he put pen to paper again.

Steve shook his head but found he couldn't speak right away. "I-I don't-"

"Did you overhear any conversations over the phone that could suggest he might be involved in something like that?"

"No," Steve immediately said, regretting doing so as soon as he did, "Dad wouldn't do something like that."

Bradley licked his lips and nodded, leaning forward, so his elbows rested on his knees. "Are you sure about that? If you know anything about your father participating in anything suspicious, I'd be much more equipped to help him."

"I said I didn't know anything," Steve said, folding his arms across his chest. "Are you saying he's in trouble?"

Detective Bradley smiled a little as he looked down at his notepad.

Steve assumed the man's smile was supposed to look sympathetic, but he could see past it.

"You know, you're a sharp kid," Bradley said, looking up at him again, "But no, no implications to be found here. Is there anything else you could think of that stuck out to you before your father stopped checking in?"

His father's last conversation on the phone replayed in his head. He remembered how anxious his dad had been, unaware that Steve had picked up the upstairs phone to listen in on—

"Anything, Steve?"

Steve blinked back to reality, startled that he'd spaced out and shook his head. "No. Nothing."

*** DP ***

_"Should I be taking my family out of town? I know she saw me. She had to have. Doctor Muller's products…they were all diagnosed with autoinflammatory diseases. It's not a coincidence, my son's doctor works for him, for God's sakes."_

The microwave beeping snapped Steve from his thoughts. The gross smell of defrosted, packaged Salisbury steak invaded his nostrils as he pulled out the grey plastic tray. He tried to ignore his mother's quiet sobs from the living room as he popped open a second Swanson instant dinner box and purposefully slammed the microwave door a little louder. His mother's sobs quieted immediately.

Since his father had disappeared, his mother had stopped cooking, stopped working, and started to spend more time alone. Steve knew it was because she didn't want him to see her cry, but she was terrible at hiding things. Something they, unfortunately, they had in common. They had started to give each other space and developed their own language when it came to ensuring it stayed that way. Closing a door loudly meant they could hear each other, a knock on the window meant company would be coming, and a locked bedroom door at night spoke for itself.

"Steve, did you take your medicine?" His mother called from the living room.

Steve opened the silverware drawer and paused, looking at the white pill bottle sitting on the wooden counter by the sink. The bright red Umbrella logo above the label practically glowed in the kitchen's fluorescent lights.

"Yeah," he called back, grabbing a fork and knife before carrying the tray to the living room.

His mother looked over at him as he approached, seeing the dinner tray in his hands. "Thank you, Steve. I'm sorry I didn't cook again."

"It's fine." Steve handed her the utensils and made a point of leaving the tray on the coffee table, letting his resentment sit in the uncomfortable silence.

"You did take your medicine, honey, right," His mother tried before he could walk away, "Be sure to take it, I know how much pain your fevers-"

"I took it," Steve snapped, "Why don't believe me?"

His mother flinched, and she raised her hands in surrender, her utensils clutched in her left hand. She lowered her eyes and nodded a little. "Ok, sweetie. I just didn't want you to be in pain."

Steve opened his mouth to say more but thought better of it as he listened to the microwave begin to beep again. He hated when she acted like such a victim like he was the one torturing her when it was her husband's fault. He marched back to the kitchen and yanked open the microwave door.

"It's senior fucking year," Steve muttered to himself as he grabbed more silverware and slammed the drawer closed in frustration. "Graduations in four months and-"

"When's your flight test, Steve?" His mother called, interrupting his muttering.

"Next week," Steve responded robotically as he sliced up the oddly shaped stake in front of him.

"Do you think you're ready for it?"

"No, I just sit in my room and pick at the paint on the walls with my fingernails," Steve muttered to himself.

"Did you hear me, sweetie?"

"Yeah, I'm ready for it." Steve dug his nails into his scalp, gritting his teeth as he eagerly waited for his mother to get sick of trying to talk to him.

"That's good. There's good money in piloting."

"That's why I'm going for it." 'Since you were fired from your job', was what Steve didn't add.

"That's really good, sweetie."

Silence fell between them again, and after several moments, Steve heard the volume of the news channel increase. He continued eating the almost flavorless steak, failing to keep himself from scowling as he did. He was really tired of rubber-tasting food.

"—At this time Raccoon City Police Department is offering no comment regarding the accumulating reports of grisly murders around the city, but Chief Brian Irons has announced a press conference on Monday to address the public on the ongoing investigation."

"Don't you get tired of the news?" Steve didn't honestly care if his mother answered him or not, but the silence in the kitchen was getting stifling.

"I'm sorry sweetie, I'll turn it down."

A sigh flared through Steve's nostrils as the news station quieted and left him to the worse outcome of being left to his thoughts. He tried to forget about Detective Bradley, hating that every day his father was gone left him more paranoid. Nothing strange had happened before today, no one from Umbrella had come by. There was also no proof that Detective Bradley was from Umbrella.

Steve bit hard at his lip as he thought about the badge the man showed him, wishing he actually knew how to tell if a badge was fake or not. If Bradley had been a fake, then he would know Steve had been bluffing.

" _It's not a coincidence, my son's doctor works for him, for God's sakes."_

"Oh honey, I almost forgot," his mother called from the living room, "How's Tanner doing?"

Steve rolled his eyes. Any questions about his friends was another example of the language they had developed between one another. Asking about his friends was his mother's way of trying to encourage him to stay the night somewhere else.

"Went on a band trip," Steve said, not bothering to play along.

"Oh, what about Michael?"

"Probably busy."

"You should try calling him. It's almost the weekend, you can take the car," she tried.

"I'd rather study for my flight exam. I don't want to have to retake it." Steve stabbed his fork repeatedly into his steak, his appetite missing.

"Well…that's probably best, but you've been studying so hard. Are you sure you wouldn't rather go out with your friends?"

"Yup. I'm sure."

The truth was he wouldn't be able to hang out with his friends if he wanted to because he hadn't spoken to any of them since his father disappeared. Of course, he'd never mentioned this to his mother since doing so would make her worry more. Also, his dad going missing became the main subject of gossip at school and Steve couldn't stand any more of the sympathetic bullshit from the same kids who'd sent him home with a black eye on one occasion and a busted lip on the other. As for his friends, he didn't want any of them involved in this. Something his lousy father didn't think twice about before…

Steve stopped himself, throat clenching at the thought of his dad. He didn't miss him, he hated the selfish bastard. His dad was the reason Steve couldn't sleep at night. Why didn't he think about them when he started selling some company's secrets? The thought only made him more nervous when he overheard the mention of human trafficking. Steve whimpered before immediately clapping a hand over his mouth, listening intently for any sign that his mother had heard.

After several long seconds, his mother gave no sign she had heard him. Steve dared a slow, steadying breath. Steve wished he had never listened in on any of his dad's conversations. He buried his face in his hands, hating that he shuttered again from the pathetic sob that threatened to burst from his chest. Was Umbrella going to come for him? His dad thought so. What for? He wasn't the one selling their secrets. Was that what Detective Bradley's visit was? He couldn't go to the police if Umbrella had people posing as detectives, could he?

The silence hung heavy over them again, and Steve knew his mother was sweating over talking to him on the couch. A million thoughts were bombarding his mind, but he knew he couldn't tell her why her husband was missing. Her not knowing was probably the only thing keeping them safe. Who would listen to him anyway?

Steve hated the raw guilt that came from the thought, especially when he knew he was right not to say anything. Even so, right now his mom wasn't watching the news and was desperate to assert to him that she'd noticed something was off. The fact bothered him more because, while staring at the hundredth tv dinner he had to make for them both, his grief-stricken mother had yet to notice the missing—and loaded-Ruger Super Redhawk .44 that no longer occupied the side drawer of his father's bedside. Or at least, she'd never brought it up. When she did, he'd lie about that, too.

Steve dropped his hands on the table, mulling over his pathetic attempts to shoot the beer bottles he'd found in the woods behind the neighborhood, only to find out he couldn't aim for shit. The gun was too heavy in his hands, and he still jumbled the hammer.

"I'm proud of you for being so responsible, I know this has been hard."

"Not really," Steve lied, pushing the neglected food away from him, "I'm just surprised dad didn't leave earlier." Steve bit his tongue, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"Honey, please don't say that. I'm really worried about your father."

Steve pressed his lips together. He inwardly begged his mother to stop talking, to not open up to him. Not him of all people.

"Honey, you can be honest," his mother hesitated, "did…"

Steve waited, saying nothing.

"You can be honest; I need you to be." She cleared her throat. "Do you think the woman who called…did she call more than once?"

Her attempt to subtly ask him if he was aware of his father having an affair was weak but hurt all the same. Worse because she wouldn't understand why.

"No." Steve didn't offer more, not knowing what else to say.

"Honey, you're not in trouble if you know something."

Steve sat up stiffly, hearing his mother's footsteps as she came closer. His heart pounded in his chest as she closed the distance, and he jumped when he felt her hand on his shoulder. The gesture made her quickly retract her hand, only making Steve feel worse.

His mother looked down at him, trying her best to hide the hurt behind a gesture she honestly didn't understand. She smiled down at him after a moment, her light blue eyes sad and pink from crying.

He tried not to look at the wet spots of tears that had stained her pale blue blouse or the glistening tear stream she had missed on her right cheek. Reluctantly, Steve shook his head.

"I don't know anything, mom." Steve looked away as soon as he saw his mother's eyes lower, knowing she didn't believe him. She had every right yet somehow the fact crushed him.

"Ok," she whispered before clearing her throat. "I'm going to take a hot bath before bed."

"Yeah," Steve said, staring at his plate. To his surprise, his mother knelt down next to him and kissed the top of his head. He could smell the soft, powdery scent of her perfume. It occurred to him that he hadn't realized, as he looked up at her again, that she'd been wearing makeup. After so long, the fact seemed almost otherworldly. Her lips were painted pink, her eyelids slightly blue, her hair had the uplifted look of being blow-dried. She was even wearing her pearls. Had she looked like this all day? How had he not noticed?

She smiled down at him softly, sadly before she placed her hand on his forearm. "How about we go to the lake this weekend? We'll just disappear for a couple of days?"

Steve stared at her, dumbfounded for a moment before realizing he had to say something. "Yeah. That sounds fun."

She smiled again, giving his arm a squeeze. "I know it'll be just the two of us there but who knows maybe-"

"Yeah that's fine," Steve said awkwardly. "It'll be fun."

"I love you, sweetheart."

Steve looked away, blinking back the tears that had snuck their way into the rims of his eyelids. "Love you too, mom."

*** DP ***

Steve sank a little in his chair. He stared out at the street at the end of the lawn. He watched several different things while listening to his mother shout hysterically from inside the living room beside him. Across the street, Mrs. Miller sat cross-legged on a blanket while her two-year-old girl played with a stuffed giraffe.

Mr. Thompson mowed his lawn two houses over and paused to wave at the dusty red mustang that rolled by on the road between their homes. Steve looked at the unkempt lawn at the foot of their porch, confident he'd bowing at as soon as his mom's hysterics finally stopped. He'd probably be washing dad's car too…and any other bullshit chores as punishment for piercing his left ear.

Steve fiddled with the skinny silver earring in his ear, feeling his ear throb from pressure. He'd obsessively checked to make sure he'd pierced it right without burning himself. No blood and burning plus his earing staying in his ear probably meant he'd done it right. An eventual ear infection would tell him either way.

The bug screen door squeaked loudly as his father stepped out onto the porch, looking exasperated.

Steve looked away as his dad walked over, refusing to look up from the dark wooden planks beneath his bare feet. He groaned inwardly when his dad settled in the lawn chair next to him, saying nothing for several seconds.

"She's beside herself in there," he sighed, "'How could our only son pierce his own ear?' She thought you were doing drugs, you know."

Steve scoffed, "Oh yeah, tons. There's meth under my mattress."

His dad chuckled. "Any tattoos I should know about?"

"Of course not," Steve bit back, folding his arms across his chest. He looked over at his father who quirked a suspicious brow at him from behind his glasses. Steve glared back at him. "I don't have any tattoos. Jesus, I did it myself."

His dad relented, his eyes going to the neighborhood around them. His thin lips twisted a little as he chewed at the inside of his cheek. "You do know it needs to come out, right?"

"Why the hell do you care? You're not going to be here to have to see it anyway." Steve slumped in his chair, staring out at the street again and watched Mr. Riley from two doors down walk his lanky dalmatian past, puffing a cigarette as he did.

"Son, you know your mother doesn't like piercings. I know you did it deliberately and the last thing we all need is your mother calling me in the middle of the night about it still being in your ear."

"Sorry it's such an inconvenience," Steve grumbled, staring at their mailbox at the end of the other end of the yard. He had only just then noticed the little red metal flag had been propped up.

His dad sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Go to the pharmacy and get a bottle of antiseptic to clean your ear. I'll give you the money to buy the bottle. Clean your ear and put the earring away."

Steve rolled his eyes, envisioning the bottle he already had on his nightstand.

"Son, you need to try harder for your mother's sake."

Steve stood with a huff, ignoring the lawn chair toppling over behind him.

"Son-" His father grabbed his arm.

Steve glared at him. "Maybe Mom wouldn't be freaking out if you weren't stealing from your fucking job."

The words stunned his father, and Steve pulled his arm free, marching back into the house. He yanked the bug screen door open and slammed the front door behind him.

*** DP ***

Steve woke from the sound of breaks squeaking in the street. He rubbed at his eyes as he sat up in his chair, realizing he'd slept at his desk. His lamplight blinded him a little as he looked around his room, wondering when he'd nodded off.

Outside his window he could see the street lights glaring in the night, illuminating the paneled walls of the houses across the streets. Their windows were dark. Steve looked over his shoulder at the black plastic alarm clock on his nightstand. The bright red letters read, "3:07 am."

Steve rubbed at his eyes again and looked down at his practice tests. He'd fallen asleep in the middle of the third page of his worksheets. The black and white FAA shield in the top left of the page was outlined with varying scribbles, illustrating Steve's earlier boredom. Evidently, he'd been bored enough to fill in each bolded word with a different pattern. "FEDERAL" had been zig-zagged, "AVIATION" had been filled with little swirls and "ADMINISTRATION" he hadn't finished bolding.

The sound of car doors slamming shut made Steve look up from his doodling. From where he sat, he couldn't see the street but could see his reflection in the window. More specifically, he could see the pencil stained on his left cheek. Steve wiped at his cheek and looked down at his worksheet again. His cheek had smudged the answers.

Another car door slammed, and Steve looked at the window again. He stood from his desk and looked out, seeing a large black van parked in front of Mr. Thompson's house. A logo of a green thunderbolt in the outline of a lightbulb decorated the side of the van with large, green bold letters below that read: "DR. ELECTRIC COMPANY."

Steve frowned at the sight of two men in standing by the front of the vehicle. One lit a cigarette while the other stood looking around at the telephone poles. At the three in the morning? Steve shook his head, yawning, and exited his room. He was careful to close the door behind him, making sure he didn't wake his mother as he crept down the hallway towards the bathroom at the end. He'd memorized what parts of the carpeted floor squeaked on ventures to steal his dad's car in the night.

The fluorescent light in the bathroom blinded him temporarily as he walked up to the mirror. When he blinked back the spots in his eyes, Steve leaned towards the mirror and examined the faded words on his face. In light, faded pencil the words, "Uncontrolled airspace" lined the curve of his cheekbone. The faucet squeaked when Steve turned it, and he leaned towards the water to scrub his face.

The sound of the faucet squeaking was drowned out by the sound of the front door smashing open downstairs. It was followed by the sound of its glass raining down on the wooden floor. Steve almost doubled over from the crash making him jump. Someone had broken into the house. He didn't need to contemplate who, the detective guy from earlier randomly coming here was all he needed to put it together. Umbrella was here, they'd sent someone.

Steve immediately slipped from the bathroom, flicking the lights off as he did, and hurriedly went back to his room. His dad's revolver was under his pillow. He'd just grab it and get his mom. His anxiety doubled as he heard glass crunching below from the stairwell, whoever it was had come inside. He crossed his bedroom in three steps or less and snatched the heavy revolver from his hiding place. His hands trembled violently as he pulled back the hammer and shakily stepped from his room.

More than one set of footsteps crunched across broken glass, making Steve freeze in his doorway. He looked down the hall, wondering desperately if he had time to run to his mother's room before they found the stairs. His eyes widened when he discovered his mother's door wide open, and she nowhere in sight.

"Oh shit," he breathed, half-sprinting down the hallway to her door. He heard the familiar squeak of the first step on the staircase and froze when he found his mom's room empty. The sheets on the left side of the bed had been pulled away.

"Mom," Steve dared to whisper into the room. He'd hoped she'd simply hid under the bed, but then he remembered from accidentally bumping his heel against the drawer at the foot of the bed frame, that would be impossible. Where was she? Had been downstairs when they came in?

The thought horrified him, especially since he knew he would have heard her scream. The staircase squeaked again, and Steve immediately stepped into his mother's room, closing the door a little and stepping back to aim the revolver.

Steve held his breath, mind ablaze with questions. Where was his mother? Was she hiding downstairs? The laundry room was at the end of the hall around the corner by the stairs behind—

Steve heard the scrape of the foldable wooden doors to the laundry room being opened. He expected his mom's scream and instead heard footsteps approaching the door. He readied himself as the knob turned and jumped when the door flew open.

Unintentionally, Steve pulled the trigger and shot a bullet directly into his mother's stomach.

Their eyes met, and tears ran down his mother's cheeks. The look of shock and raw fear in her light blue eyes made Steve's blood go cold, tears blur his vision. Before she collapsed to the floor in front of him, her mouth moved, forming words the sounds of the intruders running towards the room drowned out.

Inconceivably, Steve managed to pull back the hammer on the gun once more before pulling the trigger once more on a tall figure that appeared in the doorway. As the shot from the revolver knocked the man onto his back, Steve took notice of the man being entirely clad in black and, more importantly, wore a bulletproof vest and fell to the ground with a large machine gun in his arms.

A second man dressed identically burst into the room, stepping over his mother's body as Steve struggled with the hammer—receiving the butt of the man's gun square against his brow before he could re-cock his gun.

Steve could remember falling on his back and feeling the rear of his scalp scrape against the sharp wooden corner of his parent's bed frame before he hit the ground. He remembered the revolver being wrestled from his hand, not without a fight and being dragged a little along the carpeted floor before something hard and metal smashed against his head.


	3. Our Arrangement

           Steve let out a breath as they left behind Kyoto’s city limits. He could barely read the Kanji signs but recognized a city limit road sign when he saw one.

           “ _Aaaaand_ unclench,” Lexi said in response to the breath he let out.

           “Yeah, no kidding.” Steve sat up a little straighter in the tiny Suzuki and unzipped his faded jacket. He’d slumped in his seat the entire drive through Kyoto to hide the thoroughly stained jacket that hid his equally stained white scrubs. It was bad enough that two Americans were standing out on the road, worse if one of them looked like he was being kidnapped. Now that Steve thought about it, it wasn’t entirely untrue.

           “We’ll pull over somewhere remote so you can change out of those clothes,” Lexi said, glancing at him from the driver’s seat. “You didn’t leave the duffle bag, did you?”

           “Back seat.” Steve watched the wooded, rolling hills outside the passenger window zoom by as they drove. Random, brightly colored houses randomly occupied their peaks before vanishing behind a bullet train surging past them.

           “Ah,” Lexi said, “well, we’re out of there now so you can relax.”

           Steve scoffed. “Raymond saw the license plate. There’s no way he didn’t.”

           Lexi scoffed back, though humorously. “Burnside, relax. We’re not taking this car out of Japan.”

           “And when he reports it stolen again?” Steve tugged at a loose strand of his bandage, needing to do something with his hands.

           “We’re ditching the car in eight hours or so,” Lexi said, “We’ll stay at a hotel in Niigata and get a different car.”

           “And then what? Is there an aquatic car from there?” Steve froze when his fidgeting managed to tear some of his bandage.

           “Hey,” Lexi called, nodding her head towards the bandage, “Don’t fuck with that, we don’t have a lot left in the first-aid kit. Didn’t have time to grab more.”

           “Where are we going from Niigata?” Steve asked, leaning his head against the window.

           “Fukaura, and if by ‘aquatic car’ you mean the storage of a tanker, yes. We’re going by sea.”

           “Oh, God, again?” Steve’s stomach lurched at the idea of another sickening amount of days in a constantly swaying hull.

           “I know, but air travel’s a no-go.” Lexi sighed. “It’s too bad since you can pilot.”

           “Yeah but if we don’t respond to a radio tower--”

           “Yup, any air force will take us down. Thanks, world, glad Bioterrorism wasn’t the only one out there getting shots in.”

           Steve’s mood darkened at the thought. He remembered the weeks he’d spent watching documentaries on the years he’d missed. Planes crashing into towers, entire countries emptying as they ran from the Middle East. Sex and human trafficking, human experimentation, the exploitation of refugees fleeing war, this world wasn’t the one he left behind when he was delivered to Rockfort Island’s shores.

           “Can you keep that from unraveling?” Lexi placed a hand on his forearm just above his bandage.

           “It’s not a problem.” Steve felt Lexi give his arm a little squeeze but didn’t move her hand as she weaved around the slow-moving vehicle in front of them.

           “Ok, but did they clean the wound? Scorch marks mean your blood burned, so you leaked through your stitches, so--”

           “It’s fine,” Steve snapped, more at the memory of his captors neglecting pain killers before sewing the gap between his fingers shut.

           “Ok.” Lexi snapped back, now holding his arm in a fist. “We just _really_ can’t afford for you to need a tetanus shot right now.”

           “Why, did you line up another buyer?” Steve regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth but realized it was too late to follow up with an apology as soon as Lexi released his hand to punch the hazard light button on the control panel.

           She pulled off to the shoulder and put the car in park, making the car lurch, and Steve jump a little.

           “The fuck are you doing,” Steve asked, not meeting her eyes.

           “You’re right. Let’s wait for Raymond, you ungrateful fuck.”

           He could feel Lexi’s glare digging into the side of his face. The constant clicking of the vehicle’s hazard lights was torturous as she waited.

           Steve swallowed, feeling his heart beating hard in his chest. I forced himself to take several breaths, twitching every time he felt a strong enough heart murmur break his heart’s pattern.

           “I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat, the voice hoarse.

           “You know why it took me a week to get here?”

           “ _Please start the car_.” Steve hated that his voice broke. Every second they sat here was every second Reymond was behind them, getting closer and closer.

           Lexi was silent as she obeyed, silencing the incessant clicking of the car’s hazard lights and traded it for the quicker rhythm of the blinker.

           Steve relaxed a fraction at the sound of the car’s almost soundless engine hummed with speed.

           “You look clammy. Heart ok?”

           Steve reluctantly looked over at Lexi who drove with her eyes on the road, left elbow propped against the window and hand cupping the side of her head. “It’s fine.”

           “Ok,” Lexi breathed.

           For a long time, they fell into an uncomfortable silence, worse because of the incredibly silent car.

           “Why were you gone for a week?” Steve looked out the passenger window again.

           Lexi cleared her throat. “Had to meet Slavicki in Shikoku. The money I made via Yamamoto was enough to pay what I owed. Asshole wanted interest, so I made it so getting you was one in the same.”

           Steve’s eyes widened. “You sold me again?”

           “ _Of course not_ ,” Lexi groaned, meeting his eyes briefly, “I told Slavicki that Yamamoto had stolen you from me and that he knew holding onto you was dangerous. As far as Slavicki knows you’ve been put down.”

           “That would explain why Raymond showed up. He must have thought he was collecting jars.” Steve couldn’t help shuttering at the thought.

           “Yeah but I figured his boss had been watching the channels and Yamamoto’s got a big mouth,” Lexi said.

           Steve looked at her again, seeing she looked a little less angry than before. Enough for him to not regret conversing more.

           “So, what was the interest?” Steve worked to tie the strands of his bandage he tore earlier.

           “Had to take down Yamamoto—and lab by extension—and leave the tissue samples for him to collect. Joke’s on him since Raymond will have no choice _but_ to grab the samples.”

           “You sure he bothered? This isn’t the first time we—”

           “Definitely sure. Nothing’s more marketable than Alexia. Not even the Plaga.”

           They fell silent again for several moments before Lexi reached over and shoved at his shoulder gently. “Don’t do that.”

           “What?” Steve asked, even though he knew what she meant.

           “We have enough of a target on our backs, Burnside. We wouldn’t have gotten out of there if we took the samples with us.”

           Steve looked out the window again, giving up on trying to mend the tear in his bandage. He wondered how many biohazards would come of that. How many would come of the trail they’d left behind? Hay many facilities had Lexi sold him to only to leave behind the samples they took when she came back for him?

           “Interest like that takes planning, and I had to give Slavicki time to give me what I needed to break into the facility. During that time, I faked hacking Yamamoto’s bank account and delivered the money I got for you.”

           “I guess that would take a week,” Steve said reluctantly.

           “Yeah but,” Lexi let a sigh flare through her nostrils, “Shitty for you. I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you. I bet they weren’t gentle.”

           “No different from the others.” Steve shrugged a shoulder.

           “I’m sorry, Burnside. Actually, no, I’m not. That’s not something I can,” Lexi’s lips pressed together briefly as she thought, “It was desperate. If I didn’t clear that debt…and being the only friend you’ve got I…” Lexi didn’t finish her sentence.

           “I-I know.” Steve folded his arms across his chest. His throat tightened, and he bit back his pathetic urge to sob. He told himself he was just coming down from the Clonazepam that had been injected into his arm.

           “I’m not telling you to forgive me, by the way. Don’t ever. Just…the debt’s paid and by the time Slavicki puts it all together we’ll be halfway across Russia.”

           “Yeah,” Steve said, nodding.

           Lexi looked back at him briefly again. “It’s going to change. We’ll never— _I’ll_ never sell you like that again. We’re done with that. I promise.”

           Steve blinked back the tears that swelled in his eyes, looking out the window again. “Thanks for coming back for me, Lexi.” Steve hated that his voice cracked.

           “Thanks for helping me pay my debt, Steve.”

 

***DF***

 

          “I can’t walk anymore,” Steve said breathlessly as he practically collapsed on a fallen log. He deposited his duffle bag as Lexi walked back over to him, surveying the heavily wooded area around them.

           They’d abandoned the car along the edge of the Naeba Ski Resort, deterring slightly from their original goal of camping on the outskirts of Niigata. Above them, the canopy of trees practically glowed with the autumn colors of bright golds, vibrant oranges and bold shades of crimson.

           “Ok, we’ll take a break and then head for the river. We’re not far according to the map,” Lexi said, folding the map she’d stolen from an unmanned backpack by the resort’s entrance.

           “Ok,” Steve said, unzipping his duffle bag.

           Lexi shrugged the black backpack from her back and knelt down next to him, slipping the bag inside and producing a metal water bottle from the contents.

           “Here, and no one’s around. Might as well get out of those scrubs.” Lexi held out the bottle.

           Steve nodded again, popping off the stringed cap and chugged.

           Lexi sat cross-legged in front of him before sliding the duffle bag towards her and digging through the contents. She glanced at the sneakers he wore and produced a pair of dark blue jeans and a black knitted sweater with a white stripe running down either sleeve.

           “I know,” she said, reacting to the face he made, “I should have gotten you the one with the unicorn on it.”

           “Fuck off,” Steve said, putting the bottle down and first stripping his jacket.

           Lexi took it from him and turned the article of clothing in her hands and examined the splashes of blood. “I think I wipe this down at the river. Thank God it's weatherproof.”

           Steve stood despite how sore his joints felt and stripped the thin white shirt, being careful to hold it over his stomach as much as he could.

           “Burnside doesn’t hide your stomach from me. It doesn’t bother me.” To illustrate her point, Lexi’s light green eyes settled on the enormous whirlpool of red skin that marked the majority of his stomach. She unfolded her legs and lifted herself to her knees, holding up the sweater to him in one hand and placed her free hand flat on his impalement scare. Her eyes met his.

           Steve’s skin prickled at the touch.

           “You’re the only one uncomfortable around this,” Lexi said.

           Steve nodded wordlessly and let Lexi take the stained shirt from him. He pulled the thick sweater over his head and moved onto the pants. He slipped out of his sneakers and was careful where he stepped, not wanting to add wet socks to his problems.

           “We’ll toss these in the river and let it take them. It’s not supposed to get below freezing tonight so the sleeping bags will do the trick.”

           Steve handed over the scrubs and took the jeans, relieved to be in warmer clothing. “So, we’re going to Russia?”

           Lexi looked back up at him and nodded. “Across Russia, actually. It should take us…a week? Maybe two depending on how many different cars we have to trade.”

           Steve frowned. “Have you been through Russia before? Illegally?”

           Lexi nodded, “Several times, not cross country—mind you—but yeah. Keep to the rural areas, go around major cities, and we won’t have to worry about the horrors of a Russian prison.”

           Steve smiled a little at the attempt at humor, fastening his jeans and sitting on the log again to put his shoes back on. “From there?”

           “Edonia,” Lexi said, “It’s a straight shot through Edonia to get to Belarus. _That_ will be much easier country to travel through. Belarus’ countryside’s nice. Rural and people keep to themselves.”

           “That’s good,” Steve said, smiling a little as he finished tying his shoes, “You have it all planned.”

           Lexi stuffed his scrubs back into the duffle bag. “Well, I have a destination in mind. Whether we can actually stay in Belarus or not, I have no idea. I chose Belarus though because Minsk—the capital—has a BSAA outpost. It’s a small one that usually deploys operatives to bigger countries, but they’re good about keeping that traffic out of its borders.”

           The mention of BSAA gave Steve pause. He reluctantly took the bottle by his feet and drank slowly. Even so, he knew Lexi had seen.

           “Speak your mind,” she said, forcing a smile. She tapped the tip of her boot against Steve's ankle, encouraging him to speak.

           Steve pulled the bottle from his lips and fiddled with the cap. “ _Should_ we be going to the BSAA?”

           Lexi tilted her head at him. Her face was unreadable. “You know why we can’t.”

           “If we tell them that it was all self-defense—which is the _truth_ —they’ll give us sanctuary.”

           Lexi sighed and hung her head back. “Burnside. We can’t go to the BSAA because I’m a fucking terrorist. They can prove that. _You_ can’t go to the BSAA because _we_ can’t tell if they’re clean or not. Remember what happened with the FBC? You want to cause another Terragrigia Panic?”

           “Of course not,” Steve said, staring down at the bottle. “But maybe—”

           “Steve. Look at me.” Lexi leaned towards him and placed a hand on his knee. “ _Look at me_.”

           Steve reluctantly complied and watched Lexi rest her chin on his knee, looking up at him.

           “I’d do it in a heartbeat _if_ it was a sure thing. But it’s not. Despite the bullshit, I put us through, we can’t risk that. _That_ is us dying.”

           Steve thought of the documentary they’d seen from a massive television screen from the Amsterdam street side. He’d struggled between the English subtitles and the horrifying images that played across the screen.

           “You’re right,” Steve said, eyes on the leaf-infested ground.

           Lexi frowned up at him and gave his knee a gentle shake. “Hey, I get it. I do.”

           Steve met her eyes again and nodded, dragging his duffle bag over and zipping it closed.

           “Ready to move?”

           “Yeah, let’s go,” Steve said, standing again. He offered Lexi a hand, and she smiled up at him, taking it.

           “We’re about a mile away. We’ll be there soon,” Lexi said, grabbing her backpack and slipping it back over her shoulders.

           “How much walking tomorrow,” Steve asked reluctantly. They walked deeper into the colorful forest and spotted a cable car ascending through a break in the trees.

           “I’m not going to tell you,” Lexi chuckled. She shook her head. “Just need to find a parking lot and hotwire another car. We’ll have another six hours to rest our feet.”

           “Got it,” Steve said, trying to ignore the ache in his legs.

           “Know what we’ve got for dinner?” Lexi grinned at him, reaching a hand back to pat her backpack.

           Steve looked at the gesture and smiled a little. “What’s that?”

           “Tonkatsu sandwiches. You’re going to miss Japanese convenience store food when we get to Russia.”

           “Any real food sounds great.” The very thought had his stomach churning, whether or not he could keep any food down was irrelevant to the starvation he’d felt since he’d left.

           “They give you those bullshit crackers,” Lexi asked, looking back over her shoulder at him as she took larger steps to lead the way.

           “No, everything was through IV here. I guess Yamamoto thought I needed reconditioning.”

           “ _Oof_.” Lexi made a face. “Yeah, week of that is total bullshit. Remind me to buy a cupcake on our way out.”

           Steve offered a pity, chuckle.

           “Ah, there it is,” Lexi said as they came to the head of a hill that overlooked the river. She looked back at him and smiled again. “I bet you’re ready to pass out.”

           Steve hesitated, looking back at Lexi. “Is it safe to sleep out here?”

           Lexi’s smile disappeared. She blinked at him as she folded her arms across her chest. “I restocked on Rohypnol. Need a dose tonight?”

           Steve considered the offer and shook his head. “I actually meant, Raymond.”

           Lexi offered a sympathetic smile. “If he finds us out here, he’ll end up on local news with a hole in his skull.”


	4. Rockfort Island

     Steve had never been airsick before. Three hours was the only measure of time Steve had to go on since he woke in the hanger of what he assumed was a Lockheed C-130 Hercules. He based the assumption on the sound of the air craft’s four engines. If panic wasn’t tampering with his measure of time, it had been one hour since the aircraft had landed. Some time ago they’d all listened in silence as compartments in the cabin opened then slammed closed. Footsteps on concrete had been heard then faded after moving on. The hanger door remained closed.  
     Somehow being left alone in a dimly lit hanger with five other abductees had only worsened Steve’s anticipation. Like the rest of them, his wrists were zip-tied behind his back. No one spoke, but Steve caught them looking around the hanger every time he did. Steve avoided eye contact as much as possible. Even though the five other men seemed relatively normal, they were all older than him. The man to his right wore a grey polo shirt with a logo embroidered to the pocket that read, Raccoon City Electricity.  
     The man to his left wore a deeply stained white silk shirt and a plastic badge that remained buckled to the belt loop of his slacks. His ID card above and below his picture read, "Joel Allman, Polymer Scientist." The deep stains of the man's shirt made the cotton fabric transparent, revealing the bandages on his torso beneath.  
     Across from, Steve, a third man, stared blankly at the floor and trembled. The man wore an equally red-stained, short-sleeved shirt that exposed vivid sleeves of tattoos etched into his skin. It was hard to watch a barrel-chested, tattooed man tremble like a scared rabbit. The two men on either side of him wore similar clothing; jeans, bloodied shirts, and bloodied faces. What did they all have in common? They were all probably Umbrella employees that got caught doing something they shouldn’t have. What did Steve not have in common with them? A blood-soaked shirt, obvious signs of being beaten within an inch of his life and previously being employed by Umbrella. Steve wondered if they were moles like his dad, or if any of them were like him; here only by association without having done anything wrong.  
     Steve’s throat caught as soon as the thought crossed his mind. The memory of shooting his mom still stopped his breath, still made his arms shake, still misted his eyes and made his chest contract with guilt.  
It was his dad’s fault. If he hadn’t been caught by Umbrella, he never would have had to grab the damn gun in the first place. If his dad had never done any of this in the first place, those men from Umbrella would have never come to the house in the first place.  
     Steve held his breath, resisting the urge to start sobbing. What was outside this plane? What were they going to do to him? He didn’t know anything, only what he’d overheard. Nothing useful. The thought had been hanging heavy over Steve since he regained consciousness. If he didn’t know anything useful, would they just kill him? All he overheard was something about human trafficking…and human experimentation. Steve couldn’t help his body starting to shake. He’d already been trafficked technically, so did that mean that’s where they were?  
     Panic began to settle in, despite his best efforts to stay calm. His teeth rattled in his mouth even though he was beginning to sweat. His palms stung from his fists digging his fingernails deep into his palms. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t pan—  
     “Maybe they forgot about us.” The man on the right of tattoo sleeves blurted out.  
     The outburst made Steve jump, but he kept silent, instead, he watched other heads turn towards the guy with the broken nose.  
     “Shut up. You want them to hear you?” Tattoos snapped.  
     “Why aren’t they taking us yet?” The man to his right asked, shifting on his bloodied knees. “They just left us here.”  
     “They’re coming for us, idiot. I’m not going to give them a reason to shoot us,” the electrician next to Steve said.  
     “What’s the matter? Did you do something that would warrant them executing you on site?” The sinister tone from the guy named Joel Allman worsened Steve’s shaking.  
     “Fuck you, Allman! I see you tied up too, asshole. I survive this shit I swear I’ll report your fucking story!” Broken nose spat at him; his red spat of saliva hit the man since they were across from one another. “You murdered that woman and her children. You turned them into fucking monsters!”  
     Steve shrunk away from Allman who took on a furious look. The Electrician did his best to shimmy over so Steve could move further away. Steve would have thanked him if he weren’t so terrified of what was about to happen next to him.  
     “Yeah, I still don’t know which bitch and her kids you’re talking about. There’ve been so many but at least I’ll die knowing I’m going with a preserved reputation.” Allman scoffed. “How did that ‘latest scoop’ go for you reporter? Sounds to me like you’ll just be another missing person’s case.”  
     “I’ll fucking kill you, Allman,” Broken nose snarled, leaning forward to get in Allman’s face.  
     “Shut the fuck up already,” Tattoos barked, “They’ll hear us!”  
Steve stared at the ground, wishing he could disappear. He tried not to move as the shouting kept going on around him, tried not to be there as he listened to the two men to his right argue, the man across from him desperately trying to shut them up and the other two men to his right doing the same thing he was.  
     “Just stay quiet kid.”  
     Steve looked over at the electrician, more surprised he’d been able to hear the man whispering over the hollering to their left.  
     The electrician looked back at him fearfully, his dark brown eyes squinted slightly. “You’re small. Just be quiet when they come in. Keep your head down. Don’t give them a reason to hurt you.”  
     Steve felt a sob coming on and he immediately pressed his lips together to stop the cry that almost came. A second later, Steve wanted to vomit when the hanger door groaned and echoed in his head. He lurched forward, making Tattoos and Bloody Knees try to shift away thinking he was going throw up. He managed to hold himself together but found he couldn’t sit up straight as he felt the metal floor under his knees rumble with the opening door. This was it. Here they came. Whatever was about to happen was starting now. What did people like this do with the kids of people who leaked information? His dad had to be dead, so what would they do to him?  
     At some point, Steve became aware of the other men falling quiet, followed by the sound of footsteps on the now inclined hanger door.  
     “Kid, sit up,” the Electrician snapped. He’d probably been telling Steve to do so the whole time, but it was the first time he’d heard him.  
Reluctantly, Steve obeyed and sat back on his ankles. Somehow the action left him breathless. It wasn’t until the approaching steps came to a stop and shadows cast themselves upon them that Steve finally looked back.  
     His first instinct was that he recognized the men, which may have been true, but Steve couldn’t be sure from the jet black, full-body armor each one wore. Just like his abductors, the Umbrella logo was knitted on their bulletproof vests and their identities were completely concealed by helmets with oversized, blood-red goggles and gas masks with differently shaped air cartridges.  
     There was one that stood taller and thicker than the rest. Two air cartridges completed his gas mask and a military styled helmet that differed in shape from the other three men who stood on either side of him.  
     The huge, fully equipped ACP machine gun he held in his arms caught Steve’s eye, only multiplying his anxiety as the larger man stepped up and scanned them all. Steve watched each of their reflections scroll across the man’s oversized goggles until they eventually fell on him.  
     “Who arranged the prisoner seating?” The man’s voice was gravelly. Steve had almost expected them to speak with voice changers.  
     “NIGHT HAWK gave no specifications, sir,” The black-clad man armed only with a pistol sidearm said.  
     The large man didn’t look back as he spoke. “Tell NIGHT HAWK to report to the hanger. We’ll discuss his ignoring specific instruction.”  
     “Yes sir,” The sidearmed man responded, though his helmeted head sank a little as he turned to follow the order. Obviously, they were also scared of this guy.  
     Steve quickly looked away when the large man again looked down at him. He knew the guy had noticed.  
     “Who retrieved the target?”  
     “Lancer, sir.”  
     “Mr. Spencer gave specific instructions the target not be harmed. Have Caster join you and terminate him. Take these prisoners to Raval for decontamination.”  
     “Right away, Mr. Death.” The second black-clad man said before turning on his heels and walking from the plane. The third remained silent as he drew his sidearm and stepped towards them along with his comrade.  
     “On your feet,” one of them barked, “You’re all inmates of Rockfort Island now. Obedience is the cost of survival.”  
     They all immediately obeyed and both black-clad men shoved Allman and the reporter to file in line. Tattoos was shoved next and Steve kept his eyes down as he filed in line behind them, relieved when the two armed men didn’t touch him...until Mr. Death snatched hard at his arm and pulled him from the line.  
     “Not you,” he said, letting go of his arm.  
     Steve panicked, watching the other men look back at him. They looked relieved to not have been singled out, which only worsened Steve’s shaking. Unwisely he took a step back, drawing Mr. Death’s attention.  
     “Don’t take another step,” he advised, unmoving.  
     Steve nodded quickly, wishing he could get back on his knees. He jumped when the man lifted his hand from the trigger. Again the man noticed and slowed the movement, eventually pressing a button on the side of his helmet.  
     “This is HUNK. I’m in possession of the target. Has prisoner two-five-eight been retrieved from decontamination?”  
     Steve’s eyes widened but he wisely remained staring at the floor. Why was he the target? Because of his dad? Or were they all targets? Did this guy say something about not being harmed? What fucked up thing were they about to do to him? Steve could hear someone’s muffled response echoing in the man’s helmet but couldn’t understand what was being said.  
     “Understood. Have the good doctor ready, the target was harmed during delivery. He’ll need to be examined.” Another response came and the man waited.

     “Unclear. Once DNA compatibility is established, Mr. Spencer will advise. Understood. HUNK out.”  
     As soon as the conversation ended, silence fell over them. Steve couldn’t help his trembling as he waited. Waited for this man to kill him. That’s where this was going, right? He nearly jumped out of his skin when HUNK roughly grabbed him by his arm again and dragged him to a storage container. Steve was prepared to be shoved roughly but to his surprise, the man released his throbbing arm.  
     “Have a seat.”  
     “Please, I don’t--”  
     “I won’t tell you again.”  
     Steve immediately shut his mouth and reluctantly sat down, daring to look up at the man again. Was he HUNK? Or Mr. Death? He sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. He could feel the man’s gaze boring down on him. He stood unmoving, staring directly at him.  
     “What’s your name?”  
     Steve flinched at the sudden question. He opened his mouth to respond but the words didn’t come. It took several tries but the man was seemingly patient now. “S-Steve.”  
     For several long seconds HUNK fell silent. Eventually, he turned fully towards Steve and shifted the gun in his hands. “Is that your real name?”  
    The question echoed in Steve’s skull, temporarily silencing his panic with raw confusion. His real name? What did that even mean? What was he supposed to answer?  
     “Answer when I ask you a question.”  
     “Y-yes,” Steve managed.  
     Again, HUNK stared at him silently for a long time. “There’s a very harmful punishment that follows lying on these shores. You’ll receive a more comfortable outcome if you choose honesty. Or you can stay here and rot.”  
     Steve could only stare, miserably confused by what he was hearing. What did this have to do with his name?  
     "Son?"  
     Steve thought he imagined the outburst until HUNK turned his head towards the entrance of the open hanger.  
His father stood at the head of the hangar ramp, dressed in a faded yellow prison suit with the number "258" stamped in bold black letters on the sleeve. His face was pale with few deep red cuts littering his diamond-shaped face. Since Steve had last seen him, he swore his dad's hairline had receded, and his reddish hair was starting to gray. He'd been allowed to keep his glasses though the filthy glass lenses almost entirely concealed the dispair in his grey eyes and the deep circles beneath them. He was barefoot and his hands bound behind his back. A guard wholly dressed in black held his arm in a fist and a jet black M19 in the other.  
     "Dad," Steve thoughtlessly called. A second later, the guard smashed the tip of his boot into the back of his dad's knee.  
His dad cried out in pain and crumbled to his knees. "Fucking cowards! You take children hostage? Where's my wife?"  
HUNK swiftly turned on his heels and fired his gun, making them both jump. The bullet sailed past his father and struck the concrete path outside.  
Steve looked away as soon as HUNK stopped to stand over his dad, gun pointed at his head. He didn't want to see this. The image of his mother staring back at him came to the forefront of his mind. Her stomach bleeding, the look of horror in her eyes. All of this was his dad's fault. It was his dad's fault, and he was about to be left alone with these people.  
     "I have to commend you, two-fifty-eight," Steve heard HUNK say, "Leaking information on Umbrella's experiments takes stones, but stealing Mr. Spencer's property is an entirely different story."  
     "You'll all see justice one day. I swear, you all will!"  
Hunk's boots echoed as he began to pace. He held up his gun, barrel pointing to the ceiling as he walked. "Bravado won't save you, two-fifty-eight. Your contact is still at large. I strongly suggest you give up his location."  
     His father winced but gathered the courage to glare up at the large man. "I don't know. He stopped contacting me."  
HUNK cocked his head to the side before he turned to the other guard. "Take the subject to the good doctor. He's ready for him."  
Steve stood without thinking; instinctively, he backed as the second guard grabbed his arm and began to drag him from the plane. “W-Wait,” he called between his struggles. “Dad!”  
     The guard held Steve’s arm in an iron grip, and in seconds they were off the ramp of the plane’s hanger and onto wet concrete. The stench of salt water and engine fuel invaded Steve’s nostrils as soon as his sneakers scraped the sand washed across the pavement. The second Steve gave up his struggling; he craned his head to look back at his father, seeing the man codenamed HUNK put a bullet in his dad’s leg. The sound of the gunshot deafened Steve to all other sounds, even his father’s cries of agony.


	5. In Transit

Steve woke to a room, blooming with faces. Ashes rained down from the ceiling above, dusting brows and fillings mouths that sprouted from the walls and floorboards. Their milk-white eyes looked skyward in lifeless longing, and Steve stood among them. He could taste their putrid stench on his tongue.

Identical portraits varying in size littered every inch of the wood-paneled walls the dead faces didn't. Every painting depicted a woman with golden hair dressed in a dark, purple satin gown.

"Oh, this is disappointing," someone behind him said. The high-pitched voice was definitely male and uncomfortably familiar. In response to the sound, the woman in every portrait turned her head and rolled her eyes toward Steve. Steve couldn't turn his head to face the person behind him. A prickle at the back of his skull suggested it may have been for the better. "This game was dull!"

"We should play another game, Alexia." The voice from behind him spoke again. Floorboards creaked behind him, and a distinct wet crunch made Steve envision a foot squishing one of the faces on the ground. The floorboards beneath Steve's feet groaned, indicating the person behind him was coming closer.

A pair of ice-cold hands slid across his ribs and crossed their bony wrists to seal the embrace. The back of Steve's shirt matted against his spine, soaked from the person holding him. Adrenaline surged through Steve's veins, and his muscles itched with anticipation, but his body refused to move.

Steve smelled the acrid stench of copper in his nostrils as a chin came to rest on his left shoulder.

"Now that you're awake, Alexia, there's so very much fun to have. Please say you agree."

The scene before Steve's eyes changed. The faces on the walls and floors were now gone. They were replaced by tiny versions of the same portrait of the woman. In front of the largest painting, a finely dressed man stood with his back to Steve.

The man was tall and dressed in a black suit with a pair of gloved hands folded behind him. The ashes raining down somehow didn't stick to his clothing or dust his golden hair. He stood tall and stared at the portrait that unnervingly stared back down at him.

The mirthless laughter of the man in his ear made Steve's brain rattle. "This one isn't worthy, Alexia. Why don't you just burn him away?"

"I don't know how." The sound of his own voice surprised Steve, especially since the words hadn't been of his choosing. He didn't want to burn anyone. He didn't to be alone in this horrible place.

"Let me show you, Alexia," the man behind him purred against his neck. He felt the man lifted his arm until it was in his field of vision. Steve's eyes widened as he registered the fresh, jagged slashes that leaked streams of blood from the inside of his wrist.

The man slid his hand closer to the slashes in Steve's wrist and submerged his thumb knuckle-deep into Steve's open wound. Blood oozed from Steve's free wrist, each droplet becoming an ember as soon as they dripped from his arm. His blood flowed faster, and fire rained from his arm.

The blood flowing from the walls ignited in flame as if on cue. Fire raced down each trail of blood and ignited a whirlpool of flame that spread across the floor. The fire spread across the floor before Steve, stretching towards the finely dressed man scrutinizing the portrait. The portrait of the woman erupted in flames before the man turned his head to look at Steve. A pair of reflective sunglasses concealed the man's eyes but reflected Steve's image. Steve stared into the reflection of the sunglasses, seeing a man in a red coat grinning madly back at him. The second man's face was blood-spattered, and the corners of his mouth leaked. Both of his hands glistened and stained the white scrubs Steve wore.

"Burn him, Alexia," the man said, holding Steve tighter to him. "He's not worthy."

Steve watched the man's bloody lips form the words he spoke, but his mind drifted to a memory. He remembered a pair of machine guns in either hand and emptying their clips into Alfred Ashford's chest. Alfred shifted behind him, tugging at the back of Steve's shirt.

"He won't burn." Again, the sound of his own voice surprised Steve. "He never burns."

"But you can, Alexia. Now that you're awake, there's nothing you can't burn." Again, Alfred Ashford dug his fingers into the depths of Steve's wrists. There was no pain as more blood flowed to the ground. The flames in the room rose as if the increase of Steve's bleeding equated the turning of a stove burner.

Albert Wesker didn't move as the flames consumed him. He remained tall as a bright crimson glow beamed from the other side of his sunglasses. Time had been immeasurable since Steve had woken here, but at some point, Albert burst into ashes. As soon as he did, the rest of the room followed.

Steve blinked, and a graveyard surrounded him, encased by tall bars and crumbling brick walls. Every grave was open with corpses smoldering in amber flames. He lowered his gaze to an open grave he stood before. The body inside burned like all the others, and the tombstone at the head displayed a name he couldn't focus his eyes on to read. Steve couldn't pull his eyes away from the frenzy of flame burning flesh and limbs popping from their sockets. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, and at last, he looked up from the grave.

Behind the tombstone, Alfred Ashford stood staring wide-eyed at Steve. Steve's eyes immediately went to the mutilated crater in Alfred's stomach. A frenzy of bullet holes littered the expanse of his lower torso, staining his red coat black. Steve's lower jaw quivered at the site, at the wound he inflicted.

Alfred stepped smoothly around the tombstone and reached his hands out for Steve. His bloodied lips stretched into an ecstatic grin, causing droplets of blood on his face to swell from his pores.

"Oh shhhhh, Alexia," Alfred said tenderly, reaching up his glistening red hands to cup Steve's neck.

Steve trembled violently as Alfred tilted his head forward, so their foreheads touched. Steve stared into Alfred's wild, light blue gaze until the corner of the man's eyes crinkled with his grin.

"Don't be frightened of the game, dear Alexia. All you have to do is burn them all away." Alfred backed away from him, letting his hands linger a moment more before his skin began to peel away like ashes and float upward. In a haze, the bizarre sight proceeded until Alfred burst into dust that rose into the air.

Heat singed Steve's skull, and pain coursed through every inch of Steve's body. He envisioned lightning bolts surging across the surface of every muscle and through every blood vein in his body.

"Endure the pain." A different voice whispered in his head. "Survival depends on endurance."

Steve knew the moment his tears turned into blood, felt the heat of their trails ignite in flame. He felt every second the path of his tears became fuses that led fire back to the sockets of his eyes. The revulsion of his eyes cooking in his skull ended all sense, and his entire body jerked upwards.

***DP***

A pair of hands pinned Steve down by his forearms, but they didn't stop him from accidentally slamming his forehead against the person on top of him.

"Ah, fuck," he heard Lexi cry as she let go of his arms and fell away from him.

Steve heard her hiss as he ended up on his back again. He clutched at his head, feeling the center of his forehead pulsed from the impact.

"Damn it, Burnside," Lexi cried from behind the hands she clenched to her face. "Next time, I'll just let you keep convulsing."

"Sorry," Steve groaned as he tried to sit up again. He looked over at Lexi, seeing her rock a little as she clutched at her nose. His eyes widened.

"Fuck," he breathed, "I didn't break it, did I?"

Lexi slid her hands down her face until her eyes were visible. Her emerald eyes flared with a faint glow that made the annoyance in her expression all the worse. She dropped her hands in her lap, and a sigh blazed through her nostrils. The bridge of her nose was scarlet and threatened to swell; otherwise, Steve didn't see any blood. "Just don't get a heart attack while you're at it. No defibrillators out here."

"I'm sorry," he said again, looking at the dimly lit morning around them. Through the canopy of red and orange above their heads, Steve could see the angry black clouds in the sky above. As if on cue, thunder rumbled above their heads threateningly. He didn't need to wait for Lexi to tell him they needed to get moving.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't ask if you had a nightmare." Lexi stood and brushed off the damp dead grass that stuck to her palms.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, quit apologizing. Just scared me is all." Lexi waved a hand at him and lifted her already rolled-up sleeping bag.

Steve immediately set to do the same and slipped from his pack. He rolled the thick polyester bag and noticed the sheen layer of dew that coated the outside.

"I'm surprised Raymond didn't find us out here." Steve scanned the woods around them in case he was wrong. He leaned over as he did and grabbed the strap of his backpack. He dragged it over and clipped the sleeping bag to its bottom.

"I'm not. Raymond doesn't know where we went." Lexi came over and dropped her backpack in front of him. She knelt and dug into its contents again. "Besides, we'll be long gone before he can track us here. All the smarts in the world won't matter if he can't keep up."

Steve nodded absently as he stood and pulled his backpack onto his shoulders. In the corner of his eye, he saw Lexi frown up at him.

"Wait," Lexi said. She stood and grabbed his bandaged arm. She rotated his arm a little to reveal dark stains that had bled through the upper layers of the gauze. "Shit. Did you bleed or burn, though?"

"It's still intact," Steve pulled his arm away. He winced at the idea of having to cut away skin that melded to his bandage.

Lexi stared at his arm for a second time before she relented. "Ok. When we're on the tanker, then."

"Yeah." Steve offered her a hand.

Lexi looked at the gesture and offered a theatrically, gracious smile as she accepted the hand and climbed to her feet. "Ok. Let's get out of here."

Steve adjusted his backpack on his back and accepted the duffle bag Lexi handed him. They headed south and followed along the river. Steve frowned up at the sky again as another threatening rumble echoed across the black clouds.

"How many miles are we walking?" Steve dared to ask.

Ahead of him, Lexi turned an ear towards him but kept marching forward. "We're definitely getting drenched."

***DP***

True to Lexi's word, rain pounded down hard on them, but thankfully they'd managed to hike their way back to concrete and skyscrapers. Though they were soaked to the bone, Steve was a little relieved that the torrential downpour had cleared the streets and almost completely emptied the roads.

Steve squinted hard through the rain pelting his face as he followed after Lexi. They ducked in and out of alleyways every time they encountered someone braving the storm. Every person they passed had their heads tucked into their umbrellas and shoulders hunched, making it easy to step by unnoticed. Steve spotted a gas station as soon as Lexi stepped around another corner.

Two Suzuki's were parked in the small square lot, one by the convenience store building and the other gassing at the pump furthest from the entrance.

Lexi reached back a hand, holding her hand up for Steve to stop. She looked around quickly before pointing to the plastic-covered bus stop that loomed parallel to the station. "I'll come pick you up, just keep your head down," she called through the rain.

Steve nodded and walked further up the street, alone in the downpour.

"He's not coming. Raymond isn't here," Steve muttered under his breath as he ducked under the bus stop. He scraped the rain from his hair as he watched Lexi hesitated, glancing between the cars. To his surprise, she headed for the car parked by the building rather than the one stationed by the pump. She glanced at the windows as she made a show of heading for the sidewalk before she dropping to one knee and immediately getting to work on the lock. He kept a lookout as she worked, looking left and right down the street. Somehow, Lexi always had the luck of timing when it came to moments like this.

Somehow, there was no one on the street, no cars driving by, and the one person pumping gas simply wasn't coming out to walk in on her breaking into a nearby vehicle.

The sound of tires peeling onto wet pavement drew Steve's gaze. In the corner of his eye, he saw Lexi climb into the car, slamming the door just as a red Honda rolled down the road between them. As soon as the vehicle passed, he saw Lexi pulled out of the parking lot. She kept the headlights off as she u-turned and pulled up on the sidewalk in front of him.

Steve looked at the gas station, anticipating seeing someone standing in the doorway, shocked to find someone climbing into their stolen car. But no one was there. No one was anywhere around, witnessing car theft or running for their lives. The moment he dropped into this car and Lexi drove, it would be as if they had never been here in the first place.

Lexi wrapped her knuckles against the window, motioning for him to hurry up.

Steve bit at the inside of his cheek and opened the rear passenger door and tossed his bags in before he slammed it again. The car lurched forward as soon as Steve climbed into the passenger seat in front of him and slammed the door.

"Burnside, a second later, and we would've gotten caught," Lexi said, shaking her head disapprovingly.

Steve looked out the window again, looking through the vibrating trails of raindrops at the gas station. Still, no one exited the store. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Lexi sighed, "Just need to get Fukaura. Once we're on the tanker, we're out of Japan."

Steve nodded as he pulled on his seat belt, tiring of the soft beeping the seat of his sensor triggered. He sat stiffly as he wiped at the leather upholstery with his hand.

"You're adorable, Burnside," Lexi said as she flicked on the turn signal and peeled right at the next intersection.

"He's going to get the car back," Steve reasoned, though her teasing still made him give up his attempts to spare the leather.

"I'm sure a little rainwater won't ruin his seats." Lexi raked a hand through her matted hair and slumped against the car door next to her. She sat with her left leg tucked against the door and the heel of her muddy boot, pressing deep into the seat cushion.

Steve watched her for a moment more, wondering how she could drive like that. He looked away as soon as she caught him looking at her.

"Don't be weird," she sat up a little despite her slouched position on the seat, "say what you want to say."

Steve looked out the window and watched the streets of Niigata roll by. He didn't have anything to say, but he could think of something. Every person walking below an umbrella or running through the rain for the nearest cover caught his eye. He watched every brief glimpse of people living their lives outside the window as they drove by. Every time they stopped at a light, he slumped in his seat a little, the thought of being spotted, even by people who knew nothing about him, was terrifying.

"It kind of feels like we're not part of it anymore, doesn't it?" Steve asked as the car lurched forward again at a green light.

"Terrorism?" Lexi guessed.

"The world," Steve corrected, looking at Lexi's reflection in the window. He watched her wrinkle her nose at his comment before she eventually shrugged her shoulder.

"Watashi wa itsumo sō kanjite imashita (I've always felt like that)," Lexi said, switching to fluent Japanese.

"TriCell no mae ni (Before TriCell)?" Steve asked, assuming the dialect change as well.

"Oya nashi de sodatsu kotow a anata ni sore o shimasu. Anata ga shitte okubeki (Growing up without parents will do that to you. You should know)." Lexi turned onto a bridge where a brief break in rows of skyscrapers was replaced by a gray, churning river that sliced the city in half.

"Imi shinakatta (I didn't mean)—"

"Shitte iru. Anata no pointo wa nanidesu ka (I know. What's your point)?" Lexi quirked a brow at him briefly before returning her gaze to the road.

Steve considered just letting them sit in silence but knew what he'd gotten himself into. Lexi never shied away from showing her discomfort towards his depressing comments, but she always endured. Whether she did so for his sake or her own, Steve never pushed the luxury by asking.

"Kantandesu ka? Nani mo kakete imasen ka (Is it easier? Not missing anything)?" Steve bit at the inside of his cheek as he waited for Lexi to answer. Part of him regretted the question, mainly because of his phrasing.

"You make me sound boring," Lexi said, switching dialects again. "You're Japanese is holding up, by the way."

"Thanks for teaching me." Steve folded his arms across his chest. As soon as he did, Lexi reached over and adjusted the dial. Hot air blew through the air vents.

"Get some practice in," Lexi didn't take her eyes off the road. Lexi turned the dial for the radio until she found a talk station.

Steve leaned back in his seat and listened to the female reporter's voice flowing through the speakers.

"—the rebels mounted an attack across the southern districts of the Eastern Slav Republic, coming dangerously close to Holigrad, the republic's capital. The casualties consisted mostly of military personnel, but innocent civilians were reportedly caught in the crossfire. Three rebels were arrested and taken into custody. Casualties on the Rebel's side were identified as Edonian mercenaries with no record of legal entry to the Republic's borders."

Steve paused to listen to the rest of the report before he continued his translation. As he did, he watched rain pelt the windows and the blurred image of the city roll by. He tried to push back his mounting worry as it hit him that the aforementioned, war-torn country was on their route.

"To combat the active terrorism within the Republic's borders, President Svetlana Belikova has invited the cooperation of the United States Strategic Command to investigate the claims of B.O.W. sightings…"

Steve lost track of the news report, unable to keep focused. He knew Lexi couldn't have known this was going on in one of the countries on their route. Even so, Steve also knew that Lexi was stubborn enough to chance it.

"Jesus," Lexi breathed, "I guess that's what happens when your country shares a border with Edonia. Edonian government's been trying to push those mercenaries for higher out for years." Lexi shook her head. "Can't say I blame them for putting up a fight. Edonia can only push them north into the Ukraine."

"We're heading to Edonia though," Steve scraped his fingernail on the leather of the door handle, "Do you really want to go through a country knowing there's bioterrorism going on?"

"Better we do," Lexi glanced at him, "If a bunch of Edonian thugs can cross the border without border patrol noticing, we can, too."

Steve frowned, dissatisfied by the response. Evidently Lexi had already decided they'd steer the course.

"Why aren't we going to the Ukraine instead?" Steve asked, hopefull.

"Because the Ukraine integrated the BSAA into their border patrol and they're free to fire."

Somehow being under terrorist fire was better than being under fire from the BSAA. Having value to the former equated hesitation towards injuring a viral host. From how Lexi made it sound, the BSAA didn't discriminate unless ordered to. Going through Edonia as soon as they crossed Russia was inevitable.

"Do you think we'll ever not be running like this?"

Lexi merged onto a four-lane freeway before she eventually responded. "Hard to say, honestly. Düsseldorf was nice. Six years without carting around 'every bioterrorist's wet dream' was pleasantly quiet."

Steve shot her a glare, only to be met with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

"Don't forget my debt's paid," she said, "I'm not working for Slavicki anymore."

Steve bit at the inside of his lip. Did terrorists actually let their pawns walk away? Then again, leaving Japan the way they were didn't give Slavicki much choice. "Until he finds out Yamamoto's dead and I'm not there to collect."

"We'll be carting across Russia by then," Lexi said dismissively. "People can disappear, Burnside. Even you."

Steve nodded, though he wasn't sure if Lexi had seen. He watched as another gap in the skyscrapers on his side of the road broke apart to reveal another river. It stretched a long winding scape of silver churning river water that serpentine its way that parted the infrastructure of the city. Steve's glimpse of the break in buildings immediately vanished as their vehicle pushed forward.

"Can I ask you something?" Lexi asked, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Don't get defensive, it's an innocent question," Lexi added.

The warning shifted Steve's gaze. He stared at the side of Lexi's face, realizing she was purposefully avoiding looking back at him.

"Did you do that to yourself?" Lexi nodded towards him with her head.

Confused by the gesture, Steve looked down at himself. His eyes scanned his soaked jeans and black sweater until his eyes locked on his bandaged arm. He chewed at the inside of his lip as he flexed his fingers against the sopping wet gauze.

"No." Steve wasn't surprised by Lexi's lack of response. She didn't believe him, previous…experience worked against him. Steve could own up to the fact, even though he was ashamed of the incident.

"Ok," she said after a moment. "I'm not mad if you did. In fact, I deserve that."

"Lexi-"

"Steve, this wouldn't be the first time. I need to know if you've started again-"

"I didn't," Steve said, pivoting on his seat to fully face her. He clutched at his arm tightly, feeling the wet gauze squish under his sleeve. "I didn't start—"

Failing to finish his sentence obviously hadn't helped Steve's case. He couldn't help stopping short. Convincing Lexi he wasn't hurting himself was futile. Convincing Lexi of anything after she found him bleeding to death in an empty, filthy bathtub was futile. She'd be watching him like a hawk again. Steve fought the twinge of guilt he felt in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't worth fighting over. Lexi wouldn't believe him, and he wouldn't hurt himself again.

"You talk in your sleep." Lexi glanced at him again. "You always talk in your sleep when you feel guilty."

Steve felt his throat tighten, meeting her eyes briefly before he shifted his gaze downward. He felt the warmth mounting in his eyelids before his vision fogged. Steve pivoted in his seat again and stared down at his lap. He waited. Waited for the inevitable.

"You didn't think I was coming back for you."

It wasn't a question and Steve didn't have the voice to answer.

"Shitty as it must have been, I'm glad they caught you before you could get to your other wrist, Steve."

Steve said nothing. What was he supposed to say? Sorry wouldn't cut it again this time. He blinked back the fog in his vision and held his breath, willing himself to come up with anything to say.

Instead, Lexi switched the radio on again. In the uncomfortable silence, they listened to the same reporter from before. The topic had changed from terrorism in Edonia to the BSAA's Far East branch having been alerted of B.O.W.'s appearing in the streets of Niigata.

Citizens are alerted to remain in their homes with the lights turned off and the windows locked.

***DP***

"That's it?" Steve asked, puzzled as they pulled off the ramp and to a tiny collection of buildings settled along a circular, rocky coastline. Fukaura was a tiny town settled against the water and shelves of forest that outnumbered the structures. Two "L" shaped piers bobbed slightly over the churning, silver waves and a third, long pier loomed in the bay beyond. Three tankers floated beyond the town's tiny marina, motionless despite how the ocean churned.

The rain had finally stopped by the time Lexi pulled into the parking lot of a rectangular building with a large sign with a map. He assumed the building was the town's hall. The flat roof of the red bricked, three story building was crowned with multiple antennas whose tips blinked with bright red lights.

"Yup, and our guy should be on a white and blue speed boat left of the parking lot," Lexi said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She propped herself on her knee and reached into the back seat, grabbing her backpack before she hauled it up onto the glove compartment between them. "Make sure no one's watching. Our guy knows to stay on his boat."

"Who's our guy," Steve asked as he looked out at the windshield, scanning the barren parking lot around them. The sky above them was still dark with black clouds that threatened rain but they'd left the downpour of the storm several miles back. A family of four all wearing backpacks and holding individual water bottles exited the town hall building, following the sidewalk towards the parking lot entrance.

"A Russian who owes me a favor. Don't ask him his name, you're only going to see him once anyway."

Steve watched as Lexi produced a black pull-string bag from the depths of her backpack and pulled its mouth open. His eyes widened slightly at the bound bricks of yen bills piled inside the bag. She ran a fingernail between each bill as she counted.

"All that just for a ride?" Steve asked.

Lexi held up a finger, finishing her counting before she nodded and pulled the bag's string again. "Human trafficking's expensive."

Steve couldn't hide the look of surprise on his face as he reached back for his backpack and the duffle bag.

"Don't talk," Lexi said as Steve grabbed for the door. "Just keep your head down and, actually, just stand back. I don't want him to get a good look at your face."

"Ok," Steve said. He swung the car door open and climbed out of the car. He got his bags and watched Lexi emerge from her side.

"I mean that last part," Lexi slipped her backpack on her back, "I paid for privacy and this guy looks the other way for traffickers. He doesn't want anything to do with bioterrorism."

Steve bit at the corner of his lip and looked towards the pier. There were only three boats bobbing against the filthy wooden walkway and only one of them was a speed boat. Just like with Lexi stealing the car, somehow there just wasn't anyone around to witness what they were doing.

"Come on," Lexi called as she tossed the keys in the driver's seat and slammed the door.

Steve adjusted his backpack on his back and followed. An icy chill raced up and down his spine as he watched Lexi unknowingly pass Albert Wesker on her way to the pier. Albert leaned against a jet-black Mitsubishi with his arms folded across his chest.

Lexi's image reflected across his shades as he turned his head slightly to watch her go. As soon as Lexi's boot came down on the plastic walkway, Albert looked back at him.

Steve's chest heaved harder with each step he took towards the ghost that loomed alongside his path. Goosebumps infested the surface of his skin as he slowed, being mere steps away from the monster that watched him. The bruises on his arms had healed years ago, but he could still feel the ache every time this phantom appeared. It was as though Albert's touch had permanently bruised his bones.

In the corner of his eye, he spotted Albert suddenly come closer when he stood upright. Steve stumbled, slamming into the car next to him. The car's alarm went off as soon as his elbow hit the pavement. Pain shot through his arm like an electric current that surged through his shoulder.

"You ok?" Lexi called, marching back over to him.

Breathless, Steve immediately looked to his left, seeing the specter was gone. "S-Sorry."

Lexi was looking at the spot Albert had been standing before she looked back at him. She pressed her lips into a thin line and held out a hand to him. "Seeing him again?"

Steve didn't answer as he took her hand and let her help him to his feet. He rubbed at his arm as he walked past her.

"Your arm ok?" Lexi fell into step with him anyway and grabbed the duffle bag from him.

Steve didn't argue as he let her take the bag. He stopped rubbing at his arm as they drew closer to the speedboat. "I'm fine."

"Jōsen-chū ni sore nit suite hanashimasu (We'll talk about it when we're on board)," Lexi muttered. She held up a hand, motioning him to let her walk ahead.

"Spasibo za ozhidaniye (Thanks for waiting)," Lexi called, switching dialects again. She sauntered towards the boat with a confident bounce in her step.

The man in the boat looked up at her from the phone he held in his gloved hands. He pocketed the device and quickly stepped up to the pier.

"Lexi," he greeted warmly, chuckling. He embraced her as if they'd known each other forever.

Lexi returned the embrace and chuckled as well, going along with the old man's performance. Steve watched another boat tearing across the choppy waters beyond the pier. To anyone looking, they would see a man greeting family.

"Yest' moy platezh (have my payment)?" The man asked as he pulled away from Lexi and took the duffle bag from her.

Lexi slipped the pull string bag she'd dangled from her shoulder and held it up but didn't hand it over. "Transport nas zhdet v Vanino (Transportation is waiting for us in Vanino)?"

The blonde-haired man nodded, maintaining his friendly expression as he rubbed at the silver stubble that dusted his narrow chin. "Na stoyanke kafe stoit serebryanyy Volvo. Na vetrovom stekle nakleyka s ptitsey (There's a silver Volvo waiting in the parking lot of the café. It has a sticker of a bird on the windshield)."

Lexi handed over the pull string bag and looked back over at Steve. She indicated for him to approach with a cock of her head.

The old man helped her step into the boat before looking to Steve.

Steve didn't make eye contact as he refused the hand the man held out to him. Thankfully a moment later the man stepped down and grabbed hold of the pier to steady the boat instead. Wordlessly, Steve stepped down and walked past Lexi to settle on the seat furthest from the captain's chair.

"Gotovy sest' na bort (Ready to get aboard)," Lexi said as she settled on the leather seat next to Steve.

"Srazu (at once)," the old man said, settling into the captain's chair and revving up the engine. "Pribilzhayetsya shtorm, nadeyus', poyezdka ne budet slishkom gruboy (There's a storm coming in, hopefully the trip won't be too rough)."

Steve looked to Lexi who offered a warning look in return. He tried to not let his face give way to his worry. Long periods of conversation he didn't understand had that effect on him. It was worse because he knew if he asked later, Lexi would say she didn't feel like translating her previous conversation.

The cold October wind whipped at Steve's face as the boat took off across the channel and towards a massive tanker with a red painted hull.

"Two days and we'll get there in the morning after," Lexi said into his ear over the roar of the engine.

Steve looked back at her, letting the betrayal on his face show. Hadn't she told him the journey wasn't going to be too long?

She shrugged her shoulders helplessly and looked to the tanker. She leaned towards him again, wrapping her hand around his forearm. "Be thankful it won't take longer."


	6. Let Me Live

First the painful showers. Then the countless needles pricking tender skin. That was how every morning started. According to an inmate in their cell block, who sometimes went by Mickey, he'd been here three months.

Steve was sure he'd heard 'years,' but according to the bald, skeletal forty-year-old man, they'd had this conversation before. Steve never remembered asking how long he'd been here but assumed he stood corrected.

The black-clad man named "Mr. Death," or "HUNK," or whatever his name was never reappeared before him again. Steve assumed his dad's screw up was why he'd received the man's attention. Despite the shots that made his head swim, Steve still remembered what the man first asked him.

"Is that your real name?"

The question replayed in his mind, but Steve couldn't recall the rest of the event anymore. He remembered their taking his blood after, away from all the other prisoners. At one point he'd heard his father's pained gasps outside the door. They dragged him through the hospital building to tend to his leg. Then…what else happened? Did they take a picture of him? He couldn't remember.

Steve scrunched his eyes closed in the dark. His mind was sluggish. It was like the forgetfulness of test anxiety the day of an exam. Except the feeling never went away and he was always forgetting what he knew. There's was a silver lining to the feeling. Steve lifted his left arm, looking at the jet-black barcode that sat on enflamed skin. Beneath the series of black lines, the numbers, "0267" shone beneath the layers of his skin. Most times, Steve could only feel the pain if he touched his arm.

God, he hated whatever they were injecting him with.

Steve stared at the wooden boards that lined the bunk above his own. He couldn't remember the name of the man that occupied that bed, but he was gone now. Was it Mickey?

A shower valve squeaked from the shower room around the corner of their row of bunks. The series of objecting grumbles that followed almost drowned out the sound of the shower water. Moonlight stretched across the upper bunk from the barred window that hung by the head of Steve's bed.

The cell block was an "L" shaped, foul-smelling brick building sealed by a single wooden door. At the other end of the building, the hallway angled to a filthy shower room with crumbling tiles.

"Fucks sake," a shirtless man grumbled across from Steve's bunk.

Steve looked across the skinny hallway at the filthy bed the man lay on, framed by crumbling brick walls and another unused bed that hung uncomfortably low over him.

"Tryin'a fuckin' sleep!" Another man from the other side of the wall at the foot of Steve's bed hollered. The outburst invited more moans and when the choir of disgruntled voices died down, the water became little more than a trickle.

"Mother fucker's even in hell," the bald man across from Steve whispered to himself.

Lack of sleep stung at Steve's eyes as he listened for whoever was in the shower room. None of the groaning voices he heard had been his dad's. Steve groaned when he realized that meant he would start to hear Maxwell Burnside's limp. Or he'd sleep in the showers again. Waking everyone up would lead to another beating.

The scrape of his dad's bum leg echoed in approach and Steve shut his eyes.

Stupid. So stupid. Did his dad not understand he'd pissed everyone off just now? Did it not occur to him another beating may be coming his way? Why was he coming back here?

Determined to keep his promise to never speak to Maxwell again, Steve pretended to be asleep. He was careful to take, rhythmic, even breaths as he listened to his dad coming closer.

Maxwell's hand placed itself on the back of Steve's head, making his stomach sink. His father hovered for a moment, probably hoping Steve would quit the act.

Steve grit his teeth and kept still. He didn't care. He didn't care if his dad could tell he wasn't sleeping. There was nothing Maxwell could say. Nothing he could do to fix this.

Mom was dead. They were dead.

Seconds passed before Maxwell removed his hand from Steve's head and hobbled on. It would take his dad forever to get to the furthest bunk closest to the door at the other end of the hall. By the time he made it halfway down the hall, his three abusers would settle on whether to drag him from his bed.

As soon as Maxwell's scraping stopped, Steve cracked an eye open. He couldn't see his dad anymore from where he lay. That meant he couldn't either. Steve's eyes wandered to the wooden boards above him. He looked at the corner of a photograph he stole from his father's bunk. Steve reached up a hand and tugged the photograph out a little.

Maxwell was frozen in mid-laugh in this photograph. Steve couldn't remember what he'd said to distract him. He stopped pulling the picture when the first sign of his mother's blonde hair came into view. Steve wondered if his dad knew he stole the picture. He wondered if his mom knew it was an accident. He wondered if he should tell Maxwell who killed his wife.

*DP*

Steve's eyes were open, but he couldn't see anything. The thick, bitter stench of charcoal and burning meat invaded his nostrils as he walked. He was sure he was walking since the world around him was moving but he couldn't feel his legs. It seemed more like he floated forward. Disoriented, Steve walked with his hands clenched over his ears. His head throbbed with intense pain like his brain was having a toothache.

Steve's brain registered fire burning on either side of him. Sirens sounded from beyond his hands, but he couldn't get his eyes to stay still in his sockets. He couldn't feel anything as he continued onward. It was like his body was on autopilot and he was along for the ride.

The one window in their cell block shattered before chaos followed. Everyone began to scream while dust rained from the shaking walls. The sirens began to wail and the cracked cement floor rumbled beneath their feet. He thought he'd seen his father go this way when everyone piled against the door to escape. How could Maxwell leave him behind?

High walls. Dark high walls were around him, but he was sure he was outside. Rain pelted him from above, making his prison uniform matte to his body.

Steve reached his hands forward to stop himself from colliding with the brick wall in front of him. He felt the rough surface of the bricks against his bare palms as his entire body rocked forward. The pain didn't subside in his head and somehow touching the wall made it worse. His senses followed. Steve started to hear his own heaving breaths, feel his skin vibrate like static. His tongue tasted sour in his mouth. He blinked spots from his vision and listened to sounds that began to overtake the ringing in his ears.

Rain showered in curtains and fire crackled somewhere nearby. The sirens had stopped at some point, but Steve heard an occasional scream in the distance. The sounds of jet engines slicing through the air above drew Steve's gaze skyward. He watched a pair of silver, blue-winged jets cut across the sky overhead. They moved too fast for him to spot any kind of emblem or identifying symbol.

Was that the military? Were they being liberated?

The thought offered Steve a sense of hope. He pushed off the wall, deciding he was steady enough to keep walking. He looked around at his surroundings with more clarity.

A tall gate with an overhead balcony caught his eye as he turned around. Three brick walls and a black fence surrounded the square that stretched out before him. He could see a disturbingly over-populated graveyard beyond the black iron fence. Several more graves lined the walls of the square, all the mounds of dirt at the foot of the blank stones were fresh. Tall columns of climbed high into the air beyond the walls and mixed with the dark grey clouds overhead.

Steve lifted a hand to the tracker fastened around his neck. He slipped his fingers beneath the collar, fidgeting with the nylon strap. The sides of his neck ached with protest. His previous attempts to remove the collar had resulted in his running the skin on his neck raw. Would it be worth it to find a way to cut his tracker off? Would the guards even bother trying to find any survivors at a time like this?

As the thought crossed his mind, Steve's eyes fell upon a body lying close to the center of the square. His eyes widened as he recognized the navy-blue uniform of a guard. The man lay on his back with his neck and left leg jerked in grotesque angles. Steve assumed the blast radius of the bombs had killed him instantly. He was about to move on, giving the corpse a wide berth when he noticed the gun holster on his waist. Did he need a gun? If he ran into any survivors, would they even care about a stray prisoner escaping?

A shiver ran up and down Steve's spine as his mother came to the forefront of his mind. His hands began to shake as he debated. The last time he shot a gun-no, he needed this. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. The gun was only for protection. He wouldn't need it anymore when he found his dad.

Steve drew a breath and approached the motionless corpse. He knelt and at first made a grab for the gun. He looked at the leather holster and shifted his hands to the straps, unfastening one after the other. As soon as the accessory was free, he hastily stood and strapped it around his own leg. Grave robbing had to involve a grave. This also didn't count as any kind of sin or anything, this man was one of his captors.

Once done, Steve lifted the gun from its holster and examined it. It had occurred to him that it was strange that the guards all used Lugers. Steve fidgeted with the weapon, relieved when he discovered how to release the clip. He snapped it back into place and knelt again to dig through the guard's pockets. He located three more clips before the sickening feeling of robbing a corpse made him lose his nerve.

As Steve pocketed the clips in the flimsy pockets of his uniform, he looked around at the square again. His only option seemed to either be through the gate dead ahead or the graveyard to his left. He couldn't remember which way the guards marched him through before. Think. He just had to think. Which way would Maxwell have gone?

"Damn it," Steve muttered as he debated, "Which way?"

Too late, Steve heard mud squish behind him. A split second later, the cold barrel of a gun parted its way through his hair and met his scalp. Steve's eyes widened in horror and he lifted his hands in surrender.

"Wait! I wasn't trying to escape, I just," Steve hesitated, "The alarm sounded, and the door unlocked. I thought…that I—"

The barrel of the gun pulled away only to draw a line across his shoulder blades. "Rockfort Prison, number two-six-seven," a female voice read, "Well, you're not with Umbrella."

Steve let out a breath, half-angry and half-relieved the gun didn't belong to who he thought it did. The gun pulled away from his back before the stranger spoke again.

"I'm Claire," she said, "Claire Redfield."

Steve slowly lowered his hands, letting out another breath. His earlier panicking only made his hurt throb harder. "Jesus," he said, turning to look at her, "You scared me."

Claire Redfield was a petite woman with long silken hair the color of red wine. Her locks were pulled into a single tail behind her neck, but loose strands of her hair dangled above her shoulders on either side of her oval face. She looked back at him with a pair of light, powder blue eyes, and haloes of thick curly lashes. Suspicion tugged at the inner corners of her thin brows but her round pink lips still pulled into a smile.

The pistol she held up parallel to her face kept Steve uneasy, but he took a chance on being able to fully face her. Maybe it was the bruise above her left eye that made him consider trusting her.

"What's your name?" She asked, eyes never leaving his.

Steve lowered his eyes. "Steve," he said awkwardly, "Burnside."

Claire's smile didn't waver on her face, but he saw a look in her eyes he couldn't place.

"You're not…" Steve attempted, unsure of what else to say, "They get you, too?"

Steve's eyes flickered over Claire's attire. She wasn't wearing a prison uniform like he was. Instead, she wore a pair of dark blue jeans, dark brown boots and a faded red vest over a black t-shirt shirt.

For the first time, Claire's eyes shifted downwards and her lips sank into a sad smile. "Unfortunately."

Immediately Steve regretted asking. He looked around again at the square, watching droplets of rain glitter in the firelight. Columns of smoke rose from beyond the walls and the stench of cooking meat wafted to Steve's nostrils. Strangely, Claire gave no sign she noticed. He shifted when he caught Claire's eyes roaming over him.

Their eyes met again, and she frowned. A guarded look swelled in her eyes, though she tried to hide it. "You look like you've been through a lot."

Steve frowned at the comment but couldn't help the urge to look at himself for the first time. He tried not to let the shock spread to his face, seeing his clothes singed and the skin on his arms a mess. The bruises from his constant injections dotted the surface of his skin. Steve instinctively tilted the insides of his arms away. He hadn't considered how crazy he looked. He couldn't help the resentment that came with the thought of her judging him. She didn't know anything about him.

"We're in a concentration camp," Steve said, taking a step back. He flexed his fingers around the luger in his left hand. In the corner of his eye, he saw Claire mirror him by taking her own step back.

"Look," she said, "I'm sure you heard those jets a minute ago, too. This island was attacked and caused a biohazard-"

"Biohazard?" Steve repeated, frowning at her. He'd evidently tried what little patience Claire had left.

"Look, we really don't have time for me to explain all of this," she said exasperatedly. "Let's get out of here."

Offended, Steve scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. He tucked the luger under his left arm while he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, no one's stopping you from leaving."

Claire's eyes met his again. It was her turn to look offended by his comment.

Steve stopped himself from rolling his eyes. A sudden moment of realization gave him pause, making him recall what Claire had made him forget.

Maxwell.

His dad was still out there somewhere, and he was just standing here talking to this strange woman. A sense of panic made Steve's sink as his eyes roamed back towards the gate to his cell block. How could his dad leave him behind? Maybe he could figure out where Maxwell went by retracing his steps. Without thinking, Steve moved.

"Hey, wait," Claire called after him.

Steve jumped when Claire's hand grabbed his arm. He winced from her hand gripping his recently tattooed arm. He jerked his arm away as pain seared across his skin but realized from Claire's backing off how it must have looked.

"Easy," Claire said. Her eyes widened as she lifted her own hands in surrender. "Listen to me, it's too dangerous to-"

"Don't touch me," Steve barked, taking another eager step back.

Claire stared dumbfounded but recovered swiftly with a nod. "Ok, I won't touch you. Listen to me, it isn't safe to-"

"Don't follow me," Steve said, ignoring the disbelieving glare he received from her, 'You'll just slow me down."

Before Claire could speak, Steve turned on his heels and shoved through the gate behind him. He ignored the fact that it creaked open again after slamming behind him. His anxiety doubled as his eyes fell on the cell block again. With every step he took forward, he couldn't remember how he managed to get out of here. Did he unlock that gate? Or had the others?

Steve slowed until he came to a complete stop, seeing another corpse lying in a heap on the floor. He recognized the ugly yellow of a prison jumpsuit like his own and saw the skinny, skeletal body that filled it. Steve took another step forward. He recognized the bald man that occupied the bed across from his. Steve's heart pounded hard in his ears as he realized he still couldn't remember the man's name. How was it that this guy died outside the door of their prison, but he'd made it alive?

The bald man lay on his stomach in a pool of blood and mud, eyes staring sightlessly ahead. His arms and legs were singed with horrible burns.

Tears stung the rims of Steve's eyes as he took a reflective step back. Was…was he going to find his dad's corpse around here somewhere?

For the second time, Steve jumped when a hand found his swollen arm. "Stop that," he snapped, clutching his arm as he backed.

Claire glared back at him at first but as soon her gaze shifted to his arm, her expression softened. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"What are you doing?" Steve snapped.

Claire's eyes flickered to his and she tilted her head at him. "It's dangerous to be alone out here. I'm sorry for," Claire gestured towards the gate, "for back there."

Steve averted his gaze. He couldn't help the anxious itch to find his dad. The longer he wasted time here the worse his chances of finding Maxwell alive.

"Steve, I need your help," Claire said, reaching out a hand to him.

Steve pulled back, but Claire's hand landed on his shoulder anyway. He shifted uncomfortably from her gaze boring into his.

"I'm looking for someone and I don't know my way around." She shrugged her slender shoulders.

Steve bit at the corner of his lip. "What makes you think I do?"

Claire pressed her lips together and watched him for a moment. "I just need a computer. Have you seen any?"

Steve fought the feeling of dread welling in his stomach. His dad was out there. As much as he hated the bastard, he didn't want to be alone.

"Move!" Claire suddenly cried, yanking Steve forward by the collar of his shirt. A split second later, she fired her pistol, and something dropped behind him.

As soon as Steve steadied himself, he cupped a hand over his right ear, hearing it ring for the second time. "What the hell?"

Steve looked back at Claire, seeing her gun aimed at his cellmate. The bald man now lay in the mud in a completely different position. He stared at the phenomenon for several seconds before the corpse twitched and let out a low, echoing moan.

"How the fuck—"

"Back up," Claire commanded, already pushing him back.

Steve obeyed and stared as she fired and shot a bullet through the man's sagging head as he tried to rise. His body toppled over in the middle of his attempt to stand.

"Y-You shot him," Steve said, taking a more fearful step back.

Claire looked back at him, wearing a look of fear on her own face. "We need to get inside before any more show up."

Steve stared, wondering for the first time if she was crazy. "You just shot a half-dead-"

Claire took a step towards him, making a grab for his arm. "Everyone dead is going to get back up, just like him."

Steve considered raising his gun before he caught the same corpse moving a third time. He turned his head fully towards it, clearly signaling Claire to spin around and open fire again. Jesus Christ, she was right.

"Come on," Claire barked as she dropped the corpse for a third time.

Steve didn't hesitate to follow her around the corpse and back into the prison cell he'd just left behind.

Claire shut the door behind them and glared at the door for several seconds. Her gun remained at her side, her muscles tense as she waited.

Steve backed a step; his boot scraped a discarded paper.

Claire immediately held up a hand, motioning for him to remain quiet as they waited. At some point she relaxed and turned around. She glanced towards the East end of the building where a raised, gated platform stood. The glow of a screen beaconed them from atop a desk that faced the opposing wall.

Steve's gaze shifted in the opposite direction. His eyes fell on the wooden door that once imprisoned he and his cellmates in their prison. The door now lay face down on the ground. His fellow cellmates had managed enough force piling against each other to rip it off its hinges.

Another body lay face down next to the door. There was no blood this time, much to Steve's relief. The contortion from the corpse's broken back and shoulder still made Steve want to lurch. Muddy footprints stamped across the corpse's shirt suggested he'd been trampled to death.

"Oh, God," Claire said, moving to stand next to him. Her eyes were on the body as well before she turned her head. "What happened here?"

Steve followed Claire's gaze across the room and froze when he saw another body. The haze of recently shaven blonde hair killed the thought he'd found his father. This second body sat slumped against the far wall, sporting a hole in his chest that openly bled. While the island was being bombed and they were trying to escape a fiery death, they were still getting shot at. As disgusted by the fact as he was, Steve hated that the memory of getting out of here was still a blank.

"I don't know," Steve said, surveying the mess again. "I took off without looking back."

The statement wasn't untrue.

Glass crunched under Claire's boot as she began to walk towards the gated platform. She slid an overturned stool with her boot until it was under the nearest of the two wooden tables that occupied the center of the room.

"Let's hope it's unlocked," Claire said as she reached the steps that led to the gate's door. The rusted hinges squeaked in protest as she pushed it open. "Perfect, and it looks like it's working."

"What are you trying to look up?" Steve asked, watching Claire march straight into the room. The light of the computer screen spilled across her face as she knelt in front of it.

The sound of Claire typing at the keyboard came as his response. Steve bit at his lip as he looked through the door to the prisoner's quarters again. He debated going to look for his father. He thought of the corpse outside that kept standing up. Claire had said more of the dead were going to get back up.

It didn't matter. His dad wasn't in here, was he? Steve's gaze fell on the body lying by the door. He decided he didn't want answer that question right now. Without a word, he crossed the room and entered the gated area.

Claire glanced up at him from the screen. "Looks like Chris isn't here."

Steve stopped in his tracks, wondering for a second if she was talking to him or at him. He opened his mouth to speak but Claire continued on.

"Umbrella probably doesn't know where he is, either," she shook her head, "I guess that's good thing."

"Chris?" Steve asked.

"My older brother, he's been missing for three months." she clarified, "I went looking for him and it turns out Umbrella's after him."

Steve folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the frame of the gated door. Did this guy have the same bright idea as Maxwell? "Why are they after him?"

Claire sighed as her eyes drifted thoughtfully. "From what I gather, I he found out about their illegal 'activities' and had to go into hiding. I tracked him to Paris but got caught when I broke into their facility."

Steve looked away, avoiding letting her see the impressed look on his face. "And you ended up here."

"What about you?" Claire began typing at the computer again. "What's your story?"

Steve rubbed at the side of his neck, grimacing when the nylon collar scraped at his skin. "It's dumb. You don't wanna' know."

Claire chuckled and looked back at him. "Just tell me."

Steve quirked a brow at her. When they'd established, they were on friendlier terms? He didn't argue, since the alternative was an awkward silence. He shrugged a shoulder.

"I didn't do anything," Steve said, "Some other asshole screwed up. Landed the two of us in here."

That same 'asshole' was still at large, and he was still here. Steve looked up again when he heard Claire typing again. He was grateful she decided to let the conversation end there.

"So, we're in the South Atlantic," Claire said, standing upright again.

"I'll take your word for it," Steve said. The comment earned a humored smile from Claire and he looked away.

"Any idea why someone would bomb this island?" Claire returned to the computer again.

"Unless it's the military, I couldn't say," Steve said.

"Uh," Claire hummed, "That's not the military."

Steve grit his teeth, trying not to let the words get to him. If not, then who were they?

"Well, lucky for us I have a friend who can get us out of here," Claire said, "Leon will come for us."

Steve stared at the back of Claire's head with disbelief. How was she taking this so casually? Steve swallowed dryly and left exited the gated room, deciding he'd put it off long enough. Maxwell was still out there, and help wasn't coming.

"Woah, Steve," Claire called after him. "Where are you going?"

Steve reached for the door, hesitating when he grabbed the handle.

"No, Steve, don't-" Before Claire could finish speaking, a loud thud echoed from the prisoner's barracks.

Both their heads snapped in the direction and stared in silence. Eventually, Claire stepped quietly forward to stand between him and the doorway. Her gun was trained on the open doorway.

For the first time, Steve noticed the design on the back of Claire's vest. A black-winged valkyrie with a spear stood tall with the words "Let Me Live" scrawled above her wingspan. As in the song? Then it hit him. Claire was wearing a Queen vest.

Claire turned her ear towards him slightly and spoke.

"Get ready to use that gun of yours."


	7. In Pursuit of Domestication

_The Pursuit of Happiness Fall Foliage Tours!_

_The 2009 Fall Foliage Map is the ultimate visual planning guide to every family's annual 'pursuit of happiness' this fall!_

_"_ _The second spring of Lancaster, Pennsylvania is in full swing!"_

_-Mayor Gideon Eaton_

Jill wrinkled her nose at the exuberant, glossy pamphlet of smiling poster children. Two blonde boys dressed in flannel shirts and matching sets of khaki pants sat on a park bench with photogenic smiles. Their sky-blue eyes pearl white teeth rivaled the snow on the blue mountain range behind them. A row of autumn trees lined the foot of the mountain range on a lower standing hill behind the boys. She flipped the pamphlet over scanning the driving map on the back. "What do you say to a tourist-heavy walking tour through Williamson Park?"

"Please tell me you're joking."

Jill smirked and shifted her gaze over the top of the glossed paper and across the table. She held up the pamphlet a little, so the poster-children's eyes were staring across the table.

Chris rolled his eyes before returning his gaze to the skinny-framed laptop in front of him.

Jill narrowed her eyes playfully as she lifted the ugly pamphlet up in front of her mouth to hide her smirk. "Did you ever take Claire on one of these when you were younger?"

Chris looked up again, eyes locking on the pamphlet. His gaze lit up with realization when he solved the mystery of why hour voice sounded muffled a moment ago. He leaned back in his seat, relenting his fingers from the keyboard. "God no. I'm glad she hated those kinds of things."

Jill tossed the pamphlet aside and continued with the pile of mail in front of her. "No, she just liked motorcycles and camping."

Chris shifted his gaze back towards the laptop again. His right hand rested on the keyboard as his chartreuse-colored eyes scanned the screen. His left hand had found its new place on the rim of his mug.

Jill watched as his chartreuse-colored eyes scanned the screen. She fought her smirk as she stared Chris down. He was debating whether to give into her attempts to distract him or commit to his work. Jill selected another envelope and flipped it over in her hands. If Chris' hands returned to his keyboard, she'd get up from the table and top off their mugs. If his hands didn't return to the keyboard, she'd still get up from the table but join him instead.

Jill forced her icy blue eyes to return to parcels in front of her. She read the sender's address in the top left corner several times but couldn't remember what it said. Her eyes drifted to the back of Chris' laptop before the corners of her mouth pulled into a slight smile. "Is it riveting?"

"As a sermon," Chris answered, smirking back at her again. He dropped his hands from the keyboard and leaned back in his seat.

Jill dropped the envelope in her hand and stood from the table.

Chris' hand slid around her waist before she could sit on his leg. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his mouth press against hers in one quick motion. In a rush, her entire body and mind seized with an intense urge she hardly felt a moment ago.

They'd fucked before.

Before Raccoon City. Several times after but before her changes. Sometimes she could remember what her body's urges used to feel like. The pleasure of intimacy she and Chris felt in her apartment while rain slammed the windows. Or at his house after the roar of Claire's motorcycle echoed in memory.

Albert's face flashed across her mind as she felt Chris' fingertips travel up her back. Their destination mere seconds away. Little circular bruises dotting the insides of her arms ached in synchronization as her mind gushed with memory. Needles pricked her flesh as Chris unhook her bra in one quick motion. His hot breath against her neck spread bumps across her skin like an infection. Her knees ached as memory replayed her scrambling against an iron-grated floor while Albert dragged her by the back of her neck.

They'd been here seconds, but the unfamiliar, bestial hunger had completely taken her. God, she wanted him. Hot tears stung the rims of Jill's eye lids as she slipped her tongue into Chris' mouth, desperate. He wasn't afraid, Chris had told her. She wasn't ruined. He loved her.

This wasn't her body anymore. The virus had changed it. She didn't recognize these urges. They weren't hers. Shame tightened her throat as Chris slipped his tongue between her lips. She moaned into his mouth, enticing him as fear prickled the back of her mind. This bestial urge predated Chris' ripping the P30 device from her chest. Every single time Albert had spoken Chris' name in her ear, mentioned him in passing, it was as though the virus was probing her mind, violating her thoughts and surging her body with…

"Hey," Chris breathed, pulling away.

Jill became aware of her tears flowing down her cheeks, along the sides of her neck.

Chris wiped the trails on her face with his thumbs. He eased her to sit on his leg. "Sorry," he said breathlessly.

"I'm fine," Jill said, connecting her mouth to his again.

"Jill-"

Jill cut Chris off with her mouth again, desperate to sate her thirst.  _Ruin me_ , she thought,  _ruin me._

 ***DP** *

"Wait, they decided this while we were in Kijuju?" Jill asked. She scrolled back to the top of the email with a swipe of her thumb against the screen of Chris' phone. The water in the bathtub swirled a little as she sat upright. Beneath the gold shield of the United Nations, bolded navy letters read, "Bedford Counterbioterrorism Committee." Jill's eyes shifted to the picture of a man underneath. She guessed he had to be in his early forties. The ghost of a dark stubble adorned the sharp angles of his oval face. The man's short, wavy brown hair was neatly combed and swept back across the top of his head. A single dimple hovered left of his thin, pink lips and a jagged, angular scar rose from the right corner of his mouth.

Jill's eyes lingered on the skinny, jagged cut. She debated whether the scar came from a small blade or was the result of field surgery.

The man in the picture stared at the camera with a pair of slate gray eyes haloed by set of eyelashes that were the envy of any woman.

_Note to all BSAA Personnel_

_As of September 17_ _th_ _, 2009, Director Luther Campbell has been instated as director of the North American Branch of the BSAA. Director Campbell's first-hand experience with counterterrorism ranges from his campaign as an undercover operative for the Anti Bioterrorism Forces (A.B.F.) to leading an undercover investigation with support from the former Federal Bioterrorism Commission (F.B.C.). Director Campbell is credited with uncovering the human trafficking performed by The Sacred Snakes, and illegal dealings between General Miguel Grande and the WilPharma Corporation._

_All advisors should expect to be contacted by the newly appointed director in the approaching weeks to complete acclimatization._

_Board of Directors._

_Bedford Counterbioterrorism Committee_

"So, you haven't met him?" Jill asked, glancing over her shoulder and the curled rim of the porcelain tub. She looked across the rectangular walkway to the door to the bedroom. She couldn't see Chris from where she reclined but did see the quilt on the bed pull away.

"I have not." As soon as Chris answered, the sheets on the mattress were pulled away. "But I did hear talks that the committee liked him."

Enough to appoint the man, it seemed. Jill turned around and scanned the email again in the corner of her eye as she sipped the lukewarm wine in her glass. She felt the tickle of the dry white rolling down her throat as she studied the man's face again. "Clive was a spy before the throne, too."

"And he's writing romance novels now," Chris called back.

Jill heard the gentle thud of sheets on the carpet. She smirked at the comment. " _Mystery_ novels."

" _Oh_."

Jill almost spit up the wine she sipped. "Chris."

"Jill."

Jill shook her head and paused when she heard the rumble of Chris' phone against the tile. She leaned over the tub again and grabbed the phone, reading the name, "Claire" on the grey screen.

"Claire, it's Jill," she answered, "Let me get the phone to your brother."

Jill frowned when Claire didn't answer. She heard the moment Chris' foot hit the tile as he came over. She gave him a concerned look as she passed the phone. He frowned back at the look as he accepted the device and put it to his ear.

"Hey, sorry about that," Chris said, returning to the bedroom, "are you ok?"

Jill listened to the faint trace of Claire's voice as she spoke. She couldn't discern if Claire was speaking in a fast pace or slow, but Jill's curiosity led to her draining her glass and climbing out of the tub. She listened as she crossed the tile floor and grabbed the towel folded neatly on the counter across from her. She watched Chris in the corner of her eye as she wrapped the towel around herself.

Chris balanced his phone against his shoulder as he pulled on a pair of worn jeans.

Jill's eyes shifted along Chris' spine, seeing three jagged scars stretch downwards diagonally across his back. She'd compared each of the mangled, pinkish expanses of skin with her arm, during nights Chris slept with his back to her. All three proved wider than her arm and longer than the length between her wrist and her shoulder. She remembered thinking Chris' spine had been severed before the Tyrant's massive claw finished slicing through skin.

The three scars vanished behind the drop of faded green cotton and Jill looked away. She turned her gaze on herself, examining the pale pigmentation of her skin and the ghostly shade of blonde her hair had changed. The bags on her eyes were still dark and sunken but the ugly shade of purple was gone.

"No, I hadn't heard," Chris said, "I guess they didn't need any help."

Jill tugged at a strand of her hair that hung by her ear. She tilted her head a little for a better look at her roots. If she searched hard enough, she could find tufts of her former dark hair hidden amongst the discolored mop she'd wrestled back from her face.

"Jesus," Chris sighed.

Jill looked his way again in time to see the plastic laundry basket bounce on the bare mattress. Chris dragged the hamper over to the foot of the bed but didn't open it. Jill tried to read the subliminal frown on Chris' rugged face. She quirked a brow at him as soon as their eyes met. His lips pressed into a thin line and he looked away.

"And they're  _sure_  it's the T-Alexia virus?"

Jill witnessed the confirmation to his question with the slightest sag in Chris' broad shoulders.

"But only lickers were running through the streets?"

Jill exited the bathroom, knotting her towel beneath her arm. She came to stand closer to him and tilted an ear towards his phone.

Their eyes locked again. "Claire, give me a second."

Without another word he lowered the phone, prompting the screen to appear briefly before he tapped the speaker button with his calloused thumb. "Sorry go ahead."

"Did I cut out?" Claire's voice echoed against the black metal frame of the speaker.

"No, I'm nosy and following Chris around," Jill answered dismissively.

"Oh," Claire chuckled, though uncomfortably.

"How many casualties from the lickers?" Jill took a seat on the edge of the mattress.

"Thirteen and possibly growing? Several people are on life-support, but I haven't heard any more."

"You're in the facility now?" Chris pushed the basket aside and took a seat next to Jill on the bed.

"Yeah, we were just cleared to enter the cells. Delta team's still sweeping the labs several floors below, but it's safe up here." The sound of a buzzer went off.

"Zokkō dekimasu (You can proceed)," a male voice said distantly from Claire's end of the line.

"Arigatōgozaimas (Thank you)," Claire responded swiftly. "Evidently the T-Alexia sample I identified didn't make it down to the labs and was left by the cell block."

"How many were infected with T-Alexia?" Chris asked, shaking his head again.

"None. This facility's a licker refinery."

Jill and Chris exchanged puzzled looks.

"So, there's just a T-Alexia sample sitting around unused?" Chris' eyes squinted slightly in confusion.

The question summed up Jill's initial reaction, though theorizing with so little information was pointless. In fairness, she was confident Chris' younger sister harbored the same amount of disbelief towards coincidences as she did.

"Well, it's not as simple as that," Claire sighed, "The sample is a vial of blood. The cap's dated October twenty fourth, making this only three days old. Whoever, or  _whatever_ , this blood came from isn't here anymore."

"You think someone stole the source." Jill reasoned. It was plausible to consider that it would take  _some_  kind of internal disaster for a licker refinery  _anywhere_  in Japan to be uncovered without BSAA intervention.

"I do," Claire responded, "Not surprisingly the hard drives for the security cameras have been wiped and we're still combing the keycard entry logs, but I got my hands on a manifesto that mentions Alexia's arrival."

"Good, that's a start," Chris said, hopeful. "Any evidence of it being a person or a B.O.W.?"

"No way to tell, but the manifesto details that the source was purchased independently. And,  _prior_  to purchase, the source was referred to as 'Project Phoenix.'"

The sound of a metal door clanking sounded, followed by the echo of Claire's footsteps. Wherever she just entered, the walls were closer.

"'Project Phoenix'," Chris echoed, "So let's assume the name may be referring to either flammable blood or complete reanimation…" Chris made a face, "I don't like the sound of an independent sale."

"Yeah I don't either," Claire said, "especially with Wesker dead, there's just no way to know who got their hands on it."

"We're still better off," Jill offered, seeing Chris wince from the comment. "That means we're either seeing the work of an independent dealer, or one of their own decided to take a chance on Alexia."

"Not knowing which bothers me," Claire said before she paused. They heard the gentle thud of a container. " _There_  you are."

They listened to several buckles and the beep of an electronic lock before Claire eventually spoke again. "Sorry. So, the  _other_  reason I called, is I need help with two things."

"Name it," Chris said.

"I don't know where Rebecca's practicing because she transferred from New York-"

"She's in Chicago now," Chris interrupted, "I'll let her know you're on your way. Do you want me to get you a hotel room?"

"Perfect, and no, I'll handle that before my flight takes off. The second thing I need, is for you to forward along a coroner's report. The names I've highlighted are victims that were identified as American BSAA employees."

"How many?" Jill asked, eyes widening.

"Three total. I can't tell you if it was deliberate or not, just that we found two driver's licenses and one BSAA badge belonging to the North American branch."

" _God_ ," Chris scoffed. "You don't happen to remember the names, do you?"

"I didn't find them," Claire said, "but I'll be sending them your way as soon as I collect them from evidence."

"We're on both," Jill said, shaking her head, "Send the report to Chris' email and I'll go ahead and get it to where it needs to go."

"Thanks, I'll send it as soon as Alexia and I are safely off the premises." As soon as the words left Claire's mouth the same buzzer sounded.

"Be careful on your way back," Chris said as his thumb hovered over the red circular button on the screen to hang up the call.

"Always. I'll be in touch."

"God damn it," Chris sighed.

Jill chewed at the inside of her cheek. "I can do both, if you want. Maybe take that time off we talked about."

Chris had already pulled up Rebecca's name on the phone before Jill finished her sentence.

"Better I do this now." He said, shaking his head.

Jill watched as Chris stood, putting the phone to his ear as he walked out of the room.

"Hey Rebecca, it's me."

For several moments in the now quiet room, Jill sat on the edge of the bare mattress. She glanced at the hamper by the bed before her eyes shifted to her ghostly pale arms. Her veins practically shone from beneath the layers of her skin in places and old scars offered pale pink reminders of moments that made Jill cringe. She bit at the corner of her lip as she stood and returned to the bathroom. She kept her eyes downcast to avoid looking at the mirror as she opened the nearest drawer and pulled out a bright orange pill bottle. Beneath her fingers the label read:

_PAROXETINE_

_25 MG ORALLY ONCE DAILY_

The bottle opened with a distinct pop and Jill threw back the pill. As she felt the foul-tasting tablet rattle its way down the back of her throat, she could hear her doctor's voice in her head.

" _You may experience some nausea and trouble sleeping at first, but that side effect should only be initial_.  _Be aware that Paroxetine is notorious for also being a sexual inhibitor. There's nothing wrong with you on either front, blame it entirely on the dosage amount I'm prescribing."_

Jill jumped when she dropped the cap and leaned to pick it up again. She ignored her towel falling to the ground around her feet and placed the cap on the counter. She frowned at the bottle, blinking at the bright white pills inside. She touched at her throat several times as her brows pulled together in confusion. She bit at the corner of her lip and hesitated. After several seconds of soundless pondering, she poured a pill into her hand. As soon as she placed the foul-tasting tablet on her tongue, she popped the bottle closed and retrieved her towel.


End file.
